Jealous

Hands clasped for a moment.
Faces in close proximity.
I imagine those things when you narrate it differently.
And see things as an affective increment.

I never asked for your memories.
Yet you insist on telling.
I question myself through all of these.
Do you really like me or am I just a catcher for all your mourning?

This must be thrilling for you.
But it's suffocating for me.
All your secrets that you muffle and chew.
I think it's obvious and very visible as to what I can see.

It really is very hard when your previous experiences are your basis.
Do you actually see that I'm jealous and in pain?
Or am I just good at hiding my feelings in vain?
Then if it's like that, I consider myself as your catharsis.