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     I guess it's because I'm selfish. Greedy. That's what everyone's always said, and I think I'm starting to believe it.
     England is happy with him. They don't usually show it, but I'm not as dumb as people seem to think--I can see it in their eyes. They love each other. They have for a long time. England is happy with him.
     I should be happy, too, right?
     But I'm not. I'm not even close. England smiles for him, and it makes me want to punch that blonde wino bastard in the face.
     One of these days, Francis, one of these days!
     I miss him, and it hurts. Everything hurts. Everything is FrUK and everything hurts.
     I fought a revolution for my freedom, and Francis fought one for his own. We're not all that different. We're both blonde, we've got blue eyes--I could grow a beard if I wanted!
     I should be happy for him--not everyone finds love like theirs. I guess I'm just selfish. I put my well-being above his--but only because he had done the same!
     But that's no excuse. I'm realizing that now. We could have settled it rationally. We could have calmed down and worked things out, if it weren't for George.
     I guess I'm just jealous--sure, France is closer to his age and they've known each other longer, but I never thought that would be a problem. I thought, after we won WWII, when he kissed me, that we'd moved past all that; I thought we could forget what had happened before. I thought he could love me like I love him.
     I don't know. I guess I'm just greedy. I thought I could have it all--freedom, breathing room, England--but freedom hurts when you're lonely. I sometimes wonder if it was worth it.
     I don't know. I guess I'm just jealous--France's revolution brought them closer together.
     Mine just pulled us apart.

Description
     I guess it's because I'm selfish. Greedy. That's what everyone's always said, and I think I'm starting to believe it.
     England is happy with him. They don't usually show it, but I'm not as dumb as people seem to think--I can see it in their eyes. They love each other. They have for a long time. England is happy with him.
     I should be happy, too, right?
     But I'm not. I'm not even close. England smiles for him, and it makes me want to punch that blonde wino bastard in the face.
     One of these days, Francis, one of these days!
     I miss him, and it hurts. Everything hurts. Everything is FrUK and everything hurts.
     I fought a revolution for my freedom, and Francis fought one for his own. We're not all that different. We're both blonde, we've got blue eyes--I could grow a beard if I wanted!
     I should be happy for him--not everyone finds love like theirs. I guess I'm just selfish. I put my well-being above his--but only because he had done the same!
     But that's no excuse. I'm realizing that now. We could have settled it rationally. We could have calmed down and worked things out, if it weren't for George.
     I guess I'm just jealous--sure, France is closer to his age and they've known each other longer, but I never thought that would be a problem. I thought, after we won WWII, when he kissed me, that we'd moved past all that; I thought we could forget what had happened before. I thought he could love me like I love him.
     I don't know. I guess I'm just greedy. I thought I could have it all--freedom, breathing room, England--but freedom hurts when you're lonely. I sometimes wonder if it was worth it.
     I don't know. I guess I'm just jealous--France's revolution brought them closer together.
     Mine just pulled us apart.