Everyone else sees something in her; either her perfection or her deep flaws, maybe both. Ineluctably, those closest to me see her face value like a promise. I am unsure if such a fact holds any betrayal.
I see how they look at her, I watch them eye her robust qualities fronted before the odious. She is a storm of inevitability. I am convinced that if they were to look inside, they would not be able to continue to see her the way I see her. Often, I am tempted to warn them: You don't want to end up like me. But I remain silent for fear of being lynched by my own jealousy.
l watch them fall at evens with her, I'll watch her fall back; so, does she watch me hurt? Does she know that I feel at all? Maybe she doesn't. She is free, she is careless, she will dance from one person to the next, gracing them each with a moment of attentiveness, all except for me. Friends, all of them; they see her greatness, but none of them seem to see me or how I suffer wordlessly at the cost of their fleeting happiness.
I like to think that I could have done things differently back when I had my chance, but it is a stupid ideal to imagine that I could have ever retained her, then and now. With such knowledge, all I ask for is her affection, even a simple gesture. Something that would be undeniably unstable as both her and I have become for different reasons in different worlds, but something more than nothing all the while. I will take what she will grant me; a look, a smile, a kiss.
But it is because of my absorption, her precariousness, our past- I will never receive as much.
