dear woman seven,
i have a hard time with you. not because i'm jealous, though i absolutely am. i am jealous of your intelligence, your style, your talent, your confidence, the way you are admired, etc.
i don't want to get married. "you're afraid," someone says. i am not afraid to get married. i don’t want to get married, which is different. this feels relevant.
i have a hard time with you, but not because of my jealousy. i have a hard time with you because i don’t like you. i don't like you, but i love you. in some ways, the softest part of my heart is reserved for you. it's not big, but it's deep. the cushiest corner of a king-sized bed, my love for you is tormenting in its elusiveness. it's a large lesson to learn in its entirety, that one does not have to like a person to love them. in fact, one can actively dislike a person and love them. you're a small child wrapped inside the skin of a difficult woman. you're still learning, which i do say patronizingly, because it gratifies the child my skin shrouds to say “she’s still learning." but i think it's also true. you are still learning, and you always will be because you are curious, which i admire. i think when you learn to stop letting your insecurity turn you mean, you will rule the world, and i will be so jealous.
i hate you because you are parts of me i hate, and i love you because you are parts of me i hate, and that's the greatest piece of hope i've ever been gifted.