Perhaps there is some sadness; when one sleeps with a woman curled in his arms for the first time in years, there is a moment of loneliness, a half-remembered dream of what it is like to capture someone for more then a few moments.
There is nothing so painful as longing. It is the old sorrow, the ache that demands tears alongside anger, laughter amid indifference.
I wonder sometimes what I miss more: that which I never had, or that which was once mine, now lost …
Longing is a true demon. I feel the pain and concur.
And what of mutual longing?