Grotesque

With each plastic container that I put aside, I cursed myself more and more. What am I doing? My hands moved on their own, rummaging through the dark cupboard, looking for a transparent box that isn't too big, nor small.

Why am I even doing this?

...

I had just finish making sushi. It's been a while, but tonight's sushi turned out to be just a little less than perfect. Same old, same old-- kyuuri, tamago, Chinese sausage as the filling. I love cucumbers.

Is this love?

No.

Deep down inside, there's a boiling pool of jealousy, the volcano kept dormant only by the ugly self-righteous conscience that tells me otherwise, the socially induced morals that determines what's right and what's not.

"Let it go..." it warbled beside my ears.

Then, as a smile hung on my face, my heart was blaming me for everything that I was doing. I didn't want to do it. But, I badly wanted to do it.

I wanted to give her my homemade bento.
Was it a smile of happiness? Or was it a sombre curve that formed on my lips due to days and days and days of being close to her, only to see from a third person's perspective that she is indeed loved by everyone else, even those who I call best... Friends?

History repeats itself.

It's as if she's stealing from me again.

I shake the thought away. No... Her being accepted, liked by the majority of us, is because of her easy-going nature. I, being alienated, being neglected, is because of my own detachment.

Is it all true though? That I am in this state because she's loved by everyone? Is this jealousy, or merely my own hatred towards myself for also loving her?

Yes.

Indeed.

I hate myself for loving someone that I've always been fond of, but for a short while, was all that I was disgusted by.

This is a perverse kind of friendship. Distorted by the lines of kindness, jealousy, love, and melancholy. I laugh with her, sit with her, touch her, and care for her, with a heart no less than pure, a soul no less than grotesque.

This is a different sort of love.

Her happiness brings me pain, and how I wish to see her cry, but it hurts me too, when she is truly down, though in the depths of my heart, those tears, bring  enlightenment and utter joy.

At this, I don't know whether to laugh, or to cry.

Happy birthday.