Looking at her,

A young woman whose name I do not know

Not age, not even a whisper of who she is

Through a screen

Of man-made self infliction 

I am green with envy 

Envy of a woman whose age shows

Whose fine lines grasp the curvatures of her supple cheeks

Whose blocky glasses

Although out of style

Somehow fit in any generation

The way she influences a million hearts of various ages

She sits comfortably in a folder she has no idea of

In my own man made inflictions 

I envy her

Because for that woman

She is one I will never come to know