Congratulations.

I just wanted to squeeze her chubby, rosy cheeks and declare,
"Congratulations! You're perfect."
She was. I didn't feel a tinge of jealousy. Not one.
I felt something I couldn't place.
Maybe it was fear.
Whatever it was
caused my breath
to
quicken
and
my
heart
to
race.
I didn't want what she had,
but it bothered me that what she had
never really wanted me.
That was it.
Yes.
Regret.
Wasted
time
and
words.
Much
like
this
poem.



Christina Sawyer (c) 2013