Envy

I would be lying if I said I did not envy her. The girl that sits next to me in English class. Her hazelnut smooth skin and silky brown hair tousling down her neck. The way their effortless curls would frame her face like a delicate tapestry was mesmerizing - each strand falling into place as if guided by design. Her burnt umber eyes, fierce and relentless - one that could challenge the gods and emerge victorious. Crimson red pigment sunken into her cupid bow lips like faded ink stained into the fibres of old paper. She was like a dove orchid in a field of wilted lustreless rafflesias - eye catching, dazzling and bittersweet. Imperfections feared her. I adored her. The way she knew the right exact words to say at the most gut wrenching moments to provide solace or reassurance. The way she grabbed and handled objects like they too were a human being, with gentle care. However, she doesn't view herself the way I do. If anything, she only notices her imperfections. Her slight misfits. She envies her flaws, while I envy her perfection. Perhaps beauty is never ours to claim, only to behold.