I pains me to see that she no longer belongs to me.

I hate the way he makes her giggle,
The cute, reserved one when she's thinking more of
how easily he could make her laugh than the whole point of the joke.
I used to do that.

I hate the way she leans on his arm and holds his hand tight
He was Atlas and she, his world.
He held her up while keeping her dreamy head grounded.
I used to do that.

The way she longs and calls for him when he's away (even for only a minute)
Kills me because I know the feeling well.
Proximity calms the turbulent storms. I know because
I used to do that.

She's so needy of him, like he was air, water-- her fire.
I hate it because she has her own supernova under her skin
And I hate it because I remember
I used to do that.

God I swear I could **** them both. Or him, maybe just him.
Stop touching her. Stop kissing her. Stop stroking her hair.
True love lies in the minutia-- the things no one dares to take a second look at.
I used to do that.