She 

By Brenna Beddia 

When it comes down to it, you suffer from a disease. Her shadow, her desirable olive green skin. The skin that deflects from her delicate hair parted in the middle perfectly. She is the perfect you desire, the perfect you’ve never had. For I am jealous of the mirror, it can reflect off of something so appealing. Your obsession is she. She has warm brown eyes, she has angelic features, she has everything you’ve ever wanted. I feel blooded sitting opposite of her having to listen, and reply to your talk, and laugh. It terrifies me most that you feel envy with her succeeding, but sigh in relief to see her downfall. It’s a disease – it’s jealousy.