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I hate being jealous, especially of one of my best friends, but I can't help it. I hate that she talks to him so much when I never get to. I hate feeling like she's stealing him from me, when he was never mine in the first place. I hate wishing that she would go home instead of hanging out on campus with me where it is easier for them to hang out.
You call me to tell me about your new girlfriend. You sound happier, and I'm glad. You tell me to go look at your myspace pictures of the two of you. I'm wary of jealousy and therefore I watch for it. I didn't feel any when you told me you're all exclusive with this girl. I didn't feel any looking at your pictures of her in your arms. Not feeling any jealousy was immediately followed by feeling a metric fuckton of surprise. I haven't been outright jealous for a while, but residual jealousy is harder to kick. I was happy for me, and happy for you. Then I heard the disappointment in your voice from not hearing jealousy in mine. So I faked it a little because I love you and now I kind of hate myself for compromising myself like that. Nevermind that it was sort of needed because of the difference in the way we view things and the imperfection of the universe. I still hate myself a little.