she's the most beautiful person i've ever met. everything is perfect about her. i'm not even exaggerating. it's wild, it's insane, it's a shocking revelation that comes back to me every time i see her. time flows but i still can't take it for granted or get used to it. it's not romantic or platonic or casual or nonchalant. it's all-consuming, irresistible, cosmic. i'm jealous of people who get to see her everyday. of those who walk past her in the morning rush. of those who sell her coffee or books or tickets. of those who sit next to her in the train and fall asleep without knowing her, without cherishing the moment. of those who won't remember her face in the evening while it's the first thing i wake up with. i am jealous of her tattoos, for they are permanent while i am not. i was never envious, but i'm jealous of her scars — of how time whitens them, learns them by heart. i'd like to be either learned like that or to learn her in return. i'd like to be something that stays.