I am a jealous person.
But not in the way you would think. I am jealous of the sheets on your bed that entangle themselves with you each night; the glass that feels the kiss of your lips in the morning; the morning light that illuminates your face, making it glow; the doorknob that feels the grasp of your hand every time you enter a room. I envy the walls that resonate the sound of your voice; the seat that feels the warmth of your body; the brush that runs itself through the locks of your hair; the air you breathe that gives you life. I am jealous of the things that experience what I cannot with you. That should be me wrapped up in your arms at night, kissing you in the morning, holding your hand until the break of dawn. I wish to hear your loving whispers and earnest laughs, feeling the heat of your proximity to mine as I comb my fingers through your tussled hair. I hope to be what breathes life into you, giving you a reason to see the beginning and end of each day.
So yes, I am a jealous person.
But not in the way you would think. (via insert-poetic-username-here)
