Envious am I of those who watch idly
Neither creator nor active participant in the goings on of a story
A much more mild, tempered kind of love
Appreciation and ability to ride happily
Whilst here I sit
Melting metamorphically in a pool of my my own ornate and ravenous tears
Over situations within which I have no control
For we
Those who fall for, and fall in and fall with
We
Love harder than thou
Thou who's content to sit and watch, and listen, yet content to not experience
A contented kind of love
And I suppose
We fall harder than thou
Thou who's contented to sit idly
For sitting has killed no man but his imagination
So we love, and we fall
And you
You do neither
So envious am I
Of such a life
A long life
A placid, contented kind of life
For perhaps upon our mounted steeds of weathered hearts and broken hands
We have lost sight of the art
And perhaps thou has not
So know,that I know, that we all know
You're are loveless, and unscathed
And though you view that as superior, we laugh in the face of an unbruised bone, and an untouched heart
But know, that I feel, that we all feel
That perhaps there are aspects, moments, instances
When we are envious
Not because we fear our walk on the edge
But because our imagination has not lived more than each continual moment we take air from this earth
And because of this
We can imagine a walk on the pleasant, mild side
So perhaps we are envious at times
Envious of your ability to watch a fall, without falling yourself
But I regret no choice of mine
For at least I possess the ability
To feel such envy.