My eyes are hazel but sometimes they are more green than brown.

I really hate this feeling.

Jealousy, seeping into my skin. Slipping under my eyelids and fingernails. Tingling down into the nerves in my toes. Being insufflated through my nose and into my brain. I fucking hate it.

The worst part is that I'm not really mad at anyone in specific. Except for myself, that is. Except for myself.

My head feels faint. I grind my teeth.

I hate the way they do that. Shut the door most of the way, leaving their body poking out. Hiding the other person behind the wooden plank between me and the air in the room, the warm body on the other side. As if we wouldn't be able to stand it if we saw each other, as if we'd scratch at each other like starving cats.

He didn't mean anything by it, I'm sure. It's just a pattern I've noticed. It's just my over-stressed brain, constantly studying behaviors and the slightest movements. I put too much meaning into smallest eye twitch, the tiniest slight of hand, the placement of someone's fingers, how wide their eyes get or how their ears perk up at certain words. I read them like books.

But people are not books. Men are not composed of pages.

I could take the easy way out and be pissed off at her, but that's just silly. I have no right, no claim to stake. If anything, she should be angry with me. She was here first. She had him first.

She never had him, either, is the thing. And she's leaving. In a few weeks. I need to be patient. In a few weeks.

But really, I don't want to be mad at her. Why should I? She has done nothing wrong. I am not one of those girls. I'm sick to my stomach just at the thought of being jealous as it is. I cannot possibly let myself be one of those girls.

I wish he would walk through my door right this second. I could shut my notebook and make these feelings disappear.

But I know that won't happen. Even if he were to walk through my door this very moment, it won't happen. He'll be a little different. A little distant. It will be tomorrow before he goes back to what he was before, until we go back to what we were before.

And then it still won't be enough. Not for me, anyway.