Friction

I tried not to look at her but she was at the corner of my eyes.

Everybody said that she doesn't hold a candle to me, and I believed it at first, but to be honest I think she was pretty. She was pretty because she was happy, and loved, and in the company of an amazing person. It doesn't matter that her hair's kooky, or that she's short, or that she's not photogenic. It doesn't matter, because while I am here sucking up on the negative vibe of a relationship gone wrong, she was laughing with her head thrown back. The sound of her laughter reached to where I sat, and I realized that it's been a while since I associated myself with it.

I miss your hands running through my hair.