I envy the young, spirited school girl with two church benches full of friends. Her popularity comes to a rolling boil at the age of 13, and when she flips her hair back and forth to share a joke or a secret, she forgets to worry. She doesn't wonder if she is safe, or remember that she will grow old. She doesn't feel the tightness of hunger or the threat of opportunity lost. She just laughs, and her laughter ascends into school boys' ears, and they love her for just that. Her dreams don't feel wilted or far far away. They are like fresh herbs kept alive in the dirt, clipped off in small bundles in the morning, consumed and adored by dinnertime. But by bed time, and this is the thing, she is restless and too young. Her mind starts to swirl. That's when she envies me, and she's too naive to understand what for.