Hungry people and broken dreams

To be clear
I am only jealous of the people who get to spend a lot of time with you.
A lot of time being, like, more than an hour.
And of the kids you went to school with.
And maybe of the teachers a tiny bit.
And of the phone operators who phone to offer you loft insulation during dinner.
And of any shopkeeper that you have ever given money to
and whose eyes may have looked at your eyes when you said thank you
and they said you're welcome
and who you may have smiled at as they put the products you had purchased into a carrier bag.
And of the bus driver who may have driven the bus that one time you may have had to get the bus
because your car was being fixed.
And of the man who fixed your car.
And who sat where you sit and put his hands
on the steering wheel that your hands have touched.
And of the handbrake for that matter.
And of your toothbrush.
And of any glass you have sipped water from.
And of the gloves you wear when its cold.
And of the scarf you tie round your neck and that you sometimes tuck your chin and mouth inside when the air is bitter.
Oh to be that fucking scarf.
And I am jealous of you most of all.
You who gets to spend more time with you than anybody else.
You who gets to see you when you look in the mirror
and who gets to say 'thats me' when pointing at photographs that you're in.
You who gets to wake up each morning oblivious to the fact that I spend most of my days thinking about how jealous I am that I don't get to wake up next to you.
I'm probably jealous of your pillow too.
And by probably I mean without any doubt whatsoever.