What positive emotion do you feel most often?

Every damn morning, envy drags me by the collar.
It’s a shove.
Sharp, unrelenting.
It sees life through a pair of headlights, bulb broken, and still cares enough to point.

I scroll.
I compare.
It’s less about admiration and more like a court summons: “Look at this life. Yours could be this. Or else.”

Envy’s no saint.
It’s a dockworker hauling the shit you don’t want, karmic cargo labeled “Your Untapped Want.”
It’s ugly and bitter.
It doesn’t hold your hand.
It screams in your face:
“You want that. Admit it.”

And in that shout lies clarity.
It reveals the gap between who you are and who you could be. If only you’d stop whining.

Envy isn’t comfort.
It’s a bruise that says: “Get up. Do something.”
It doesn’t flatter.
It incites.

So yes, it stings.
But come evening, when you’re too tired to want anything, you’ll wake in the middle of the night thinking,
“If they can do that… why not me?”

Envy isn’t weakness.
It’s a wound that—if you don’t let it fester—can scar into ferocious drive.