You talk about her quite a bit...

Just jealous. Just jealous, nothing like ...that. You know. Jealous.

hate her.

I hate her because she thinks she's the most beautiful, most interesting and most likable human being on Earth.

You should see how she walks. To her, every pavement is a red carpet. Like she leaves stars in her trail, as though she lit up the universe. Head looked up, as if she wasn't already tall, the light catching her eyes, every stride she takes so effortlessly co-ordinated, she holds herself like she wears a gown stitched with flowers and gold. A goddess. 

In reality she's clad more humbly- a summer dress, white and shapeless, woven violets that bloom on her shoulders and arms. Bare feet- what sense is there in that?- though the thistles and spiders and rocks recoil in her presence. Each toenail is painted a shimmering lilac, jewels at her feet. Her hands unadorned but for a thin silver ring. One silver chain resting on collarbones, pulled down by a small silver star. In the sun it flashes from white to grey. All silver, but there are golden threads in her hair. From the darkest coppery to the lightest platinum- golden strands intertwined in a plait- from her ear it curls past her other shoulder. Some hair escapes, blonde ringlets brushing her face and neck. Her eyelashes, just the same, and her eyes- everyone calls them green, but yet they are the blue of summer sea with the yellow of autumn leaves and flecked with amber, all very subtle. Like the freckles on her nose, barely visible, and the way her mouth always smiles-

-always smiles because of her arrogant and condescending nature!

No, she's not arrogant. She's proud. Won't let herself get pushed over. Impossible to interrupt- her smooth voice pushes aside any patronizing remarks, the pointless reactions. She refuses to let others belittle her emotions- she can be sad, silent, somber, mourning for the unrecognized  misfortunes. She can be angry, at entitled men, she will make them take no as answer. But she forgives. She loves, she loves so much and recognizes her worth and she knows, understands, what your purpose is. She'd be a good mother, a great queen, but she is destined to be a goddess.

But she's weird.

Friends with the boys, but not quite at ease. Not happy this way. No one knows why the other girls shun her- I don't, I mean. I know why I do. She's weird. No, she's wild. Not only with her bare feet and her determined soul. She reads the same fat, battered ancient book repeatedly. She cries spontaneously. You don't see her at parties, unless they're her own. Every other week she's going to the theatre. Not Shakespeare- musicals. She still watches Disney movies. She acts like a Disney princess- setting lanterns off in the middle of the night, treating every wild animal she comes across like a best friend- and then she sings. If her spoken voice was beautiful, then her singing could revive the dead.

I hate her.

I hate her because she thinks she's the most beautiful, most interesting and most likable human being on Earth.

And she's absolutely right.

Half an hour ago, as I was just discussing this again, about how infuriating she is, and my friend just turned around and said, "Marisa, you talk about her quite a lot. Especially about how perfect she is. Do you realize?"

I'm jealous of her. That's all. 

The End

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