Quotes About Longing

You. I want you and I don't want to be a luxury. I want you to need me. I want you to not be able to concentrate because you're thinking about me. I want you to reach for your phone because you thought of something you have to share with me. I want you to not even be able to breathe at the thought of never seeing me again, because that's how I feel about you, Paige. I want to be a necessity.

I want to kiss you because it's the only damn thing I can think about. Every time I see you, I think about kissing you. Every time somebody says your name, I think about kissing you. Every single night when my head hits the pillow and I close my eyes, I think about kissing you.

There was no way I could forget, since I've done nothing but think about it since I got out of your car last night. I thought about kissing you for the rest of the night. I dreamed about it. And kissing you was the first thing I thought about when I opened my eyes this morning.

Please, Jesus, I want him to be my son.

She shook her head, but it was too late, and he was pulling her into his arms and bending his head to hers and she supposed that she could have stopped him. Should have stopped him. But no power in the world could have prevented her lips from parting in a sharp little gasp of remembered pleasure as he drove his mouth down like a man who had been starved of kisses.

You look like my every fantasy come to life,' he whispered, his voice deepening. 'How?' she whispered back. 'Wicked. Abandoned. And…' She heard his hesitation, was intrigued by it. 'And what?' 'Here,' he admitted. 'Now. On my bed after too long. Waiting for me to make love to you over and over again.

How do they do it, the ones who make love without love? How do they come to the come to the come to the God come to the still waters, and not love the one who came there with them, light rising slowly as steam off their joined skin?

Minute by minute, I do not get up and just go to him—

My body may never learn not to yearn for that one

If I ever prayed, as a child, for everlasting union, these were its shoes: one dew-licked kicked-off slipper of a being now flying, one sunrise-milk-green boot of the dead, which I wore, as I dreamed.

And slowly he starts to seem more far away, he seems to waft, drift at a distance

and not to have lost him when he loved me, and not to have lost someone who could have loved me for life.

But if feels as if he's not here— though he's here, it feels as if, for me, there's no one there

When he loved me, I looked out at the world as if from inside a profound dwelling, like a burrow or a well, I'd gaze up, at noon, and see Orion shining—when I thought he loved me, when I thought we were joined not just for breath's time, but for the long continuance

I tell him I will try to fall out of love with him, but I feel I will love him all my life.

We joked about putting it off, but underneath the joking, grim and hidden, he wanted to leave me, and he was working toward it and against it, maybe worried he could not do it, longing for it and fearing it, and not speaking of it

I put my hand on the mastodon of his buoyant hand, which was resting, now, as a swimmer at the end of a stroke may glide, may glide, desire, desire, rest, desire.

Sleep and dream—but not of his return.

I was not the one he wanted to rise from or return to

What if someone had told me, thirty years ago: If you give up, now, wanting to be an artist, he might love you all your life—what would I have said? I didn't even have an art, it would could from out of our family's life— what could I have said: nothing will stop me.

I do not let go of him yet, but hold the string and watch my idea of him pull away and stay, and pull away, my silver kite.

next to some people something walks, like a starveling, sometimes for a lifetime.

I called for him through solid earth until he woke, and left.

I didn't forget you. To this day, I have yet to walk through an airport without looking for your face, and every time it snows, I remember what it felt like to kiss you.