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Jealous of the Sun.

I’ve never been the jealous type. But lately, I’ve been insecure about the blankets that get to wrap themselves around you when you sleep. The way you find comfort in their folds, how they’re the last things you touch at night. And I don’t like how the sun is the first thing that sees you everyday. How it tickles your nose and kisses your lips first thing in the morning. Then gets to lay right where you lay. I know it may seem petty, but I envy the words that you speak. How you inhale “hellos” and exhale “good-byes” How verbs flick off the tip of your tongue when you breathe. I’m a little ashamed to say this, but I’m jealous of your dreams. They get to run through your head all day, And see your soul when everything isn’t all it seems. But most of all, I’m jealous. Of the woman that gets to be your girl. The woman you call your sun, your moon, your star. I guess you could say I’m jealous of the world.

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