I’m sorry, but I can’t go another day without telling you how much I want to feel your face beneath my fingers, how much I want to drag their trembling tips across your gentle skin. My mind swells with almost inclement desire, that I may consume your body or breathe in your being with every sigh you let out.

I want to run my fingers across the playful curve of your brow, the arching base of your nose, the edges of your supple lips. I want to feel your skin give beneath mine as it resists from the sultriness of your complexion. I want to explore every diminutive line in your face and examine every feature of your countenance. I want to graze the flourish of your lashes and kiss the corners of your exquisite, pointed mouth.

Even now my mind struggles with the words, the ineffable nature of my overwhelming appetite.

That you may be mine.

And no one else’s.

Jealousy is not a familiar emotion to me. I’m never jealous of what someone has, simply because I dislike comparing others with myself in terms of what one may earn/deserve. It’s only in my relationships which any sort of envious emotions surface, and even then, such an onerous emotion happens rarely to me.

Historically speaking, I’m generally over-confident, and such a mindset creates very worry-free relationships. It’s when I don’t have this confidence that my mind starts to wonder. In a way, this is my insecurity getting the better of me. It feels so odd to have to fight off this emotion, to have to constantly remind myself and keep my feelings in check. It’s almost an extreme test of how far I’ve come in my goal to be a cerebral person. When I try to calm myself down I can feel my mind evening out, like a melting candle, leveling out from heat.

So far, my jealousy has been easier to contain than I would have believed. Maybe I’m losing my insecurities better than I know, and I’ve come further as a person than I realized. Because of my inexperience with jealousy, I do salute any jealousy I experience as a mark of true love.

Perhaps some jealousy is a good thing.

I told Aaron that I wanted to feel jealous, so that I could know if I’m capable of love again.

I never did express any resolution on my jealousy situation. After thinking about the situation for a while, I realize that I can still be a jealous person. It’s almost as if I now know that I’m human. “Still, it’s nice to know I’m capable of tears!”, Lermontov’s character, Pechorin, tells us.

I’m not quite sure if this is a good thing or not. After all, I spent a good deal of my early consciousness trying to become a completely cerebral person. I haven’t been entirely successful, after all, I’m human, but I do believe that I have achieved a degree of logic that I can be content with. It makes me wonder how Lermontov, as we can see through his character, can be so “evil” a person. As he admits, much of his character’s traits are based on his own.

I simply wish that my mind and judgment wouldn’t be so clouded as it had been on that day. It’s a little scary, not knowing in what terrible way I can act out in.

I once met someone who was in total control of his emotions. In this way, he could feel when he wanted. This allowed him to lose himself in a greatly touching movie, but also gave him a control of any negative emotions he may experience. I looked up to this person greatly, something that I wish I could say was more common in the people that I know. It seemed like such an amazing ability, although many people whom I express this to disagree.

And I still haven’t decided whether I disagree as well.

I wouldn’t consider myself a jealous person. After all, how can one be jealous when one is sure of oneself? It’s a contradiction to me. Almost always, in my relationships, this is true. However, a special case has come up, and I am jealous, an emotion I haven’t experienced in a long while. Yet there is nothing I can do about it. I can only sit here and take it. This isn’t something that I can change about myself. I am very insecure about this, and I have reason to be.

This jealousy nibbles inside me, creating an odd world of dysthymia. As long as I am jealous, I will be able to write and learn. God, I sound like something out of a Graham Greene novel. I was once afraid that I was becoming boring, having been given much in life, with nothing to write about.

Ah, well, let’s lay this issue to rest for today until I learn some more, and I can see the situation more clearly.

I do need to clear my head.