There are nights when wanting you feels less like desire and more like a storm with my name in it.

And suddenly my whole body is no longer mine. Everything in me turns restless.
My chest.
My breath.
My skin.
That dangerous kind of longing that doesn’t ask for permission before it takes over. I miss you in places you’ve never even touched.
That’s the craziest part. I miss the weight of you.
The pull of you.
The way your presence alone can make the whole world feel too small for what it wakes up inside me. There is something about you that doesn’t arrive softly.
You enter my thoughts like fire finding dry wood.
Slow at first.
Then all at once. And I swear, some nights I can almost feel your hands on me through the dark.
Steady.
Certain.
Like you already know every trembling part of me without me having to say a word. That’s what undoes me.
Not just the wanting.
Not just the heat. It’s the way my body answers the thought of you before my mind can even pretend to be calm.
It’s the way one memory of you can turn silence into tension.
It’s the way I can be lying still and still feel like I’m falling. You have that kind of pull.
The kind that doesn’t need noise.
The kind that doesn’t need effort.
Just the image of you is enough to leave me breathless and fighting with myself. So come to me the way rain comes to a thirsty earth.
Without hesitation.
Without apology.
Come close enough to quiet this ache you keep waking in me.
Come close enough to make all this tension finally mean something. Because I am tired of meeting you only in my imagination.
Tired of carrying this craving alone.
Tired of waking up with your name sitting heavy on my mouth and nowhere to put it. And if I’m being honest, the hardest part is not the waiting. It’s knowing that somewhere inside me, there is a version of myself that only appears when I think of you.