I saw him today. Strutting down the street like he owned the world, his left shoulder digging
down a little with each step, his peroxide-blond hair glinting in the streetlight. And when I saw
him, I knew exactly where he was going.
When I found out about them, I couldn't believe it. It wasn't until I saw them together with my
own eyes that it sunk in.
It hurt so much I wanted to go out and make the streets run with blood. It hurt so much I wanted
to see the sun rise.
But I did neither.
Now, it doesn't hurt so much. I've watched them together. The teasing, the fighting, the love
that flows between them. Instead, I'm jealous.
Jealous of him.
Because he could love her without his soul and I only wanted to destroy her without mine.
Had I known that he would be loved by my love, I wouldn't have turned him. Because it isn't fair
that he could love her as much as he does without his soul as I do with mine. It isn't fair that she
could be with him.
Not with me.
I'm jealous of her.
Because it also wasn't fair that he wanted to be with her.
Not with me.
I saw him today. Strutting down the street without a care in the world, his left shoulder digging
down with each step, a cigarette between his fingertips. And I knew exactly where he was going.
My first love without a soul was going to meet my first love with one.
I was jealous.
Being not with me.