I feel a sharp sting of jealousy whenever something touches you—whether it’s a living being or even a simple object. It gnaws at me to think that someone else can gaze into your hazel eyes and see the stars that sparkle in them, while I’m not there to witness that magic. I envy the breeze, the way it threads its nimble fingers through your hair, dancing in the place where my hands long to be. The clouds too, showering their love over you when I’m too far away to even offer you a hug.
I find myself jealous of the people who get to be close to you, the ones who understand you better than I do. Even the smallest things that have any access to you, even as little as a fingernail’s worth, spark this fire inside me. Maybe it's because I know how truly wonderful you are, how effortlessly you can enchant people with your presence, your smile, your way of being. I admire you for it, I really do. But it sends a piercing pang through my heart knowing that others get to see you in your full, ethereal beauty, and might fall in love with you like I have.
I want to shield you from every glance that lingers on you, tear away the hands that dare reach out to hold you, and silence every voice that sings your praises just so you won’t be tempted to look anywhere else. I’ve never felt like this before, not for anyone. I didn’t even know it was possible to be this consumed by someone. Yet here I am, helplessly jealous of the people who get to be near you, while I’m stuck far away.