I would like to be able to breathe— to be able to love her by memory or fidelity. But my heart aches. I love you continuously, intensely.
Sometimes I turn around and catch the smell of you and I cannot go on I cannot fucking go on without expressing this terrible so fucking awful physical aching fucking longing I have for you. And I cannot believe that I can feel this for you and you feel nothing. Do you feel nothing?
lean in to kiss me in all the places where the ache is the most special.
in the afterglow of an evening rain i lay down in the grass and think of you my body aches like an after-kiss breaking in soft fires and wildflowers my dear, i will always be this tender for you.
there is some aching that will only heal... in the mosque of sleep.
Of all the miracles Po had seen in the time and space of its death, Po thought this--the absorption of another, the carrying of it--was the most bewildering and remarkable of all. Whenever Bundle separated again, Po was left with an ache of sadness that reminded the ghost of the body it had left behind.
There’s nothing wrong in dreaming when you are awake Reality is brimming with hunger, love and ache The sky is unsure why the arid moor feels bleak Quaking of earth to lure the narrowness of creek From the poem- Sprinkled
Memories are aches; they are the laughter Smiles of time flee to seize the hereafter
And these aches in my heart create poetry!
But what good are scars if they do not ache? And what good are eyes if they do not weep? What good is desire if it does not hurt? What good is a passion if it stays ‘sleep?