Jealousy (needs a better title)

      And so we play this game again. Your new girlfriend is just like all the others; sure the hair’s a bit shorter and she looks a bit anorexic, but the idea’s there. She’s just another half-hearted clone of me. I’m the same though. All the men I’ve played around with were so painfully like you, but still so far from being you.
         We’ve been playing this game for awhile now. The introductions bounce back and forth in our never-ending game of jealous Pong.
         Flaunt your knock-off-brand me. Wave her in my face and turn me green, but remember this when it’s my turn. I’ll tear your heart out with every touch, every kiss, every single meaningful glance, and I’ll watch you burn in marvelous emerald flames.
         With every introduction we hurt ourselves more. These anemic imitations will never satisfy either of us, but we’re too prideful to end it, this game.
         I love you.
         You love me.
         But we both made the right, but wrong, choice and now we’re paying for it. Both so afraid to step over that imaginary line, so wary of what it’ll bring. Even though we know just how happy we’d be if we could just...stop...this...game.
         But we don’t want the stares and we don’t want to listen to those twisted murmurings and sly remarks. People still talk though. They say we’re too close; it’s wrong for us to be such good friends. Even now, even after these years have passed, they still say it’s wrong.
         And so we play this game, unable to stop this push-and-pull attraction. This passive aggressive heartache slowly eats at us because we won’t forget the world, our world, and just be happy. We won’t cross that line, will we my friend, my love, my …