You wanted to hate her. Wanted to drag your nails across her milk white skin, tear her sapphire locks out at the root and punch straight through her soft smile. You wanted to hate her quiet strength, hate her delicate intensity, hate how she was so warm, so kind. You wanted to hate her because he loved her.

Sometimes it was easy, easy to simmer so close to hate, easy to let your jealousy trickle into anger. When she told you " I wish I could be like you, you're so talented, everyone respects you" the words burned the back of your throat, their sweetness tasted sour on your tongue. When he smiled so proud of her and what she had accomplished; gave her the look that you were sure belonged to only her, the unwavering faith that sang in their depths made you want to scream. God, you wanted to hate her. Maybe it was your shattered pride, maybe it was the part of you that had never learned how to properly accept a loss, which desperately tried to reject her. Maybe the reason you wanted to shun her was because you knew deep down you never could, because you completely understood why he would pick her.

There was this calm around her sometimes, this stillness that made people gravitate toward her; there were also times when she was: hectic, busy, a supernova of nervous energy; during those times her eyes held this resigned determination that burned like candlelight behind her golden irises. Your pride always spoke before your brain, yet when you spoke to her the warmth that surrounded her, the kindness that whispered in the tilt of her head, seemed to slow and stuff your pride back down your throat before it could snap. If you were less proud, more honest you may have said, "I wish I was more like you, maybe then he would of chose me, maybe even if he didn't I would be able to smile and say you deserve it."

God... If only you could hate her.