When am I ever anything but envious?

I envy smoothness and smiles and fecundity, laughter and rage and companionship, sleeping entwined and planning. I look around and see nothing but arid deserts of sameness. Hopes dashed on rocks and loves forgotten like odd socks never paired – they have dried everything up until nothing will grow here.

I get sleepy from the heat, my limbs are impossible to move, so I lie and stare up at the ceiling. There's not enough moisture here to sweat or to cry.