Divergent

You always claimed to have the Midas touch, and now look at you, dripping gold from every pore.
You said you were going to lead the pack, carve your own path, choose your own destiny.
You said that I put people in boxes, as you called me a 'stay-at-home Jane'.

We were the golden couple, the focus of admiration and envy. The sixth form common room, the bench by the tennis courts, were shaped by our presence or absence.
We bantered, shone in the school productions, were modest about our A stars.
We blazed like comets, but chose different orbits.

I read and study, learn and reflect, select wisdom over wealth, though both are unending quests.
I follow your career, your glittering success, while contemplating my quiet joys: dew on a leaf, the blackbird's song, the smell of morning toast.
I feel pity, often.

They said we would go far, and you went for the bright lights of London, Hong Kong, New York.
They offered me the university appointment, and I accepted.
They said 'how sad' that we selected different paths – now who will caress you?