Jealousy is a new and alien feeling. It tugs at the heart making its existence clear
It paints old scenes clearly, vibrantly in my head, with no real data. It misconstrues statements, does detailed analysis of casual lines, wonders out aloud, worries me to bits and pieces and yet leaving me unable to saying anything at all but annoyed enough to being desperately alone and silent
Cos that is not allowed. Reactions are not allowed.
That would make me then what? Ordinary. The strive to maintain a balance between what should be and what is.
After having been ignored for so long, it takes an almost guilty pleasure in tumbling out. And like all things left unsaid and all things new it doesn’t take it easy or slow. In gushes, in violent and often terrible anger that can’t be soothed by reading over and over again, words that are meant to serve the purpose
Pictures, words anything triggers it off and on it comes pouring. It requires great patience to not react, to be detached. All the practice that I have had is suddenly not enough. Perhaps cos this is the real thing. Perhaps cos I am new to this.
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