
I think of yearning as a frayed piece of my blanket
Draped over my leg as I reach for its other end to wipe my tears.
I think of it as a phantom stroke,
not knowing what you needed
until the precise moment it descends upon you.
I think of it as my grandmother’s kitchen,
warm but lonely with the endless potential of filling hearts
but meaningless in the absence of life.
I think of it as a distant possibility,
preparation never being enough,
abandoning it altogether.
I think of it as the obliviousness of a young girl
unknown to love and how it expands her heart.
Naive and hopeful that this makes her stronger.
I think of it as you, in all your raw glory.
Your nooks and corners and how I’ll forget them one by one
as the days go by.
Artwork: Pensive Lady in Pink (1952), Edward Hopper
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Yearning: As per my Thoughts
I think of yearning as a frayed piece of my blanket
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