I wish I could just appreciate beautiful things, instead of always wishing I’d been the one to create them.
A song, a photograph, a work of fiction, a hand-sewn dress.
I see it and analyze it and try to decipher how I could make it better, make it mine.
And so I’m always frustrated, never happy. Because there will always be someone who is better than me at something, and until I can make my peace with that, I’m just a frustrated girl who is too jealous to be content.