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Favoured Frenzy
There is a quiet, hollow ache in carrying an ocean of tenderness that has no shore to break against. It is not simply that I want company to pass the quiet hours, nor that I merely fear an empty room. It runs so much deeper than the surface fear of solitude. What I ache for, down to the marrow of my bones, is the exquisite relief of being chosen—deliberately, fiercely, and without hesitation.
I find myself dreaming of a love that leaves an unmistakable gravity behind. I want my absence to create a perceptible silence in someone’s world, an empty space that cannot be casually filled by the noise of the day or the company of others. I want someone whose gaze instinctively sweeps across a crowded room of a hundred laughing, shifting faces, ignoring the spectacle entirely, searching only for the relief of finding where I stand. To be that singular anchor for someone’s eyes, the one person who makes the chaos of the world fall instantly away, feels like the rarest kind of grace.
I long to be woven so deeply into someone’s inner language that my name becomes synonymous with the word love itself. I want that word to never exist as an abstract idea to them, but as a living, breathing pulse that immediately brings my face to their mind. To know that whenever poetry touches them, or a familiar song carries through the evening air, their very first instinct is to wonder where I am, wishing my hand were in theirs.
More than anything, I am tired of being an option, an afterthought, or a convenient warmth in the margins of someone else’s life. I want to be the first thought at dawn and the quiet ache at twilight. I want someone whose loyalty is not an obligation, but an effortless reflex—someone who, given all the infinite choices in a sprawling, endless world, still looks at me and decides, every single day, that they would never look anywhere else. To be deeply, unequivocally missed, and to finally be found.
I find myself dreaming of a love that leaves an unmistakable gravity behind. I want my absence to create a perceptible silence in someone’s world, an empty space that cannot be casually filled by the noise of the day or the company of others. I want someone whose gaze instinctively sweeps across a crowded room of a hundred laughing, shifting faces, ignoring the spectacle entirely, searching only for the relief of finding where I stand. To be that singular anchor for someone’s eyes, the one person who makes the chaos of the world fall instantly away, feels like the rarest kind of grace.
I long to be woven so deeply into someone’s inner language that my name becomes synonymous with the word love itself. I want that word to never exist as an abstract idea to them, but as a living, breathing pulse that immediately brings my face to their mind. To know that whenever poetry touches them, or a familiar song carries through the evening air, their very first instinct is to wonder where I am, wishing my hand were in theirs.
More than anything, I am tired of being an option, an afterthought, or a convenient warmth in the margins of someone else’s life. I want to be the first thought at dawn and the quiet ache at twilight. I want someone whose loyalty is not an obligation, but an effortless reflex—someone who, given all the infinite choices in a sprawling, endless world, still looks at me and decides, every single day, that they would never look anywhere else. To be deeply, unequivocally missed, and to finally be found.
