The weight of wanting

jealousy 

I hate how jealousy creeps in, how it wraps around my thoughts and tightens its grip until I can’t think of anything else. It makes me feel weak, pathetic even, like I have no control over myself. I wish I could brush it off, pretend it doesn’t bother me, but the truth is—it does. It eats away at me, turning every glance, every laugh, every fleeting touch she shares with someone else into something unbearable. I hate that I care this much. I hate that I let her have this power over me, that no matter how much I tell myself to let go, to move on, I can’t.

I’ve thought about cutting ties, about walking away and pretending she never meant anything. Maybe that would be easier. Maybe then, I wouldn’t have to deal with this sick feeling in my chest every time she looks at someone the way I wish she’d look at me. But even the thought of losing her completely makes my stomach drop. Because despite all this—despite the jealousy, the frustration, the pain—I can’t seem to stop wanting her. And that’s the worst part of all.