Dear Real-Life Golden Thread,

You don't seem to understand what you have.  You're exactly the girl I want to be... light as a feather, bright blonde hair, petite features, cute laugh, shy yet curious aura... like the Lucie Manette of real life, the Barbie of earth.  Another little thing...

You have him.

I hear the way he talks about you.  I listen to him make plans for you and fret over what you think of him and just... care.  I listen to him because I can only pretend he would ever care that much about me.
You hardly seem to acknowledge him.

You have so much power.  You are the only person out there where you just walk into the room and I can't stand to look at you, yet I just can't take my eyes off of you.  I sit there and stare at you and I feel sick.  It hurts. 

You're probably a nice girl.  You seem to have lots of friends, and they must be there for some reason.  But I honestly can't help but hate you.... hate you because you're gorgeous, hate you because you're tiny, hate you because you know how to wear makeup, hate you because you have him wrapped around your little finger, hate you because you don't see me, hate you because... you're exactly that picture of my ideal self I get in my head, and you don't even realize it.