Jessie

Alexandra Ashburner-Hill

I’m sitting in my bed painting my nails, she sits at my desk. Green is my favourite colour. We both wear it. Do you hear what I can’t say, or do you not feign this oblivion? I think about the first time we met, I think about dancing in the shadows, and it was like a scene from a movie, hungry and free. Her hair is in a braid. It could be so easy, for me, to spend hours trying to process these feelings, of how she doesn’t feel comfortable when I link our arms. For this moment I can pretend that we are in love. I feel hungry again. Hungry for the feeling of her hand in mine, for our lips to touch for the third time. You appear to me as a dream, but what am I to you? “You’re just my muse” and colours blur. My devil’s ivy lays next to her, so close to feeling her skin. I focus on all of the green in my room to distract myself; The labels on my apple cider (which she doesn’t like), my desk chair (which she sits on), Her green eyes, How they look at me, Always unfocused and a bit past me because she shouldn’t see me the same way. Shit. It always comes back to this, it comes back to her. While you exist in the plane of life, tangled and glossy, I remain in the shadows from the night we first touched. I could never be enough to hold you anyway. My walls dissolve in vapour, my mind is lost to green, and my hands always longing for a girl Who remains just out of reach.