Is it crazy to love someone so much that you’re jealous of the other people they interact with, no matter how mundane the circumstances?

I mean, probably, right?

I can’t help it.

When Jess mentioned being late for therapy as she bolted out of the elevator, I was jealous of her therapist. I wished I could sit across from her in a quiet, beige room and listen to her talk about her problems. I wished I could be that constant source of comfort and safety, someone she would rush to meet.

At her annual Nondenominational Winter Holiday Party, surrounded by all of her friends from high school, I was jealous of every single one of them. I wished I could’ve known Jess for as long as they had; I wished I could’ve experienced their memories of her and laughed knowingly at her stories the way they did. 

When she told the story about forgetting almost all of her lines during the sophomore-year production of Bye, Bye Birdie, I was jealous of everyone in the room that night. I wished I could’ve been there for her afterward at the cast party while she cried in the Dairy Queen parking lot. I wished her story could’ve ended with her saying “And then Stella came over, gave me a hug, and I felt better.”

I’m jealous of her dentist, who gets to see her perfect teeth and contagious smile closer than the average passerby is allowed to. I’m jealous that he gets to tell her how lovely her mouth looks, that she does a great job remembering to floss regularly, and not sound like a total creep.

I’m jealous of the mice in her apartment, who occupy so much space in the anxious corners of her mind. I’m jealous that she devotes hours of her time and attention to them, carefully setting traps with things she knows they’ll like.

I’m jealous of her coworkers. I hate that they get to see her dedication and delightful Friday-afternoon grouchiness firsthand and don’t even appreciate it. They probably roll their eyes and call her two-faced when they see her scrunching up her eyes and smiling sweetly at a customer, then falling back into a scowl the minute the door closes. I’d give anything to watch her performances every day.

I’m jealous of her roommates, who get to wash the dishes she leaves behind in the sink even though she said she’d clean them. 

I’m jealous of all the men that follow her around like lost puppies. I’m jealous of the fact that she looks at them and at least considers what it’d be like to go out with them. 

I wish she’d look at me and see something other than the weird girl from down the hall who tries too hard to be her friend. 

I wish she’d even entertain the thought of being with me.

Mostly I wish I could just have a crush on her like a normal person.