I envy people who are able to speak freely about their love. Because mine is trapped somewhere dark and dreary, and I can only speak of it in my thoughts or with him.
I envy those who have the strength to face each day with a smile on their faces. Though a grin is actually easy to come up with, hardest part is keeping it genuine.
I envy those who are laden with distractions around them, so they wouldn't have to think about how wretched their lives are. Or, maybe, their lives aren't even lonely, at all. It's just me who sees my pain solely because I own it. Mine alone.
I envy those who can easily put their lives back on track after a major downfall. Though I console myself with the fact that I probably have the most manageable and easiest time in this situation, I cannot help but cry out to heavens why this had to happen to me. To him. To us.
Most of all, I envy those believe in the supreme power of love, and who see such as the only solution to all life's ills. I have been badly burned and bruised enough to make me just scrape off the charred part of me and walk on smug-faced and pretentious. But deep inside, I am my same self. Licked by the flames and lost.