Yearning, for you

for me, for you....

Every time his name appears on my screen, the world stops. Just for a second. Just long enough for my breath to catch in my throat, for my fingers to hover over my phone, for my pulse to thrum wildly in my veins. It’s ridiculous, how much I feel in that single moment—how anticipation coils in my chest, how warmth spreads through me like the first blush of dawn. He doesn’t even have to say much. Just a “hey,” just my name in his voice, in his words, and suddenly, I’m alive in a way I wasn’t the moment before.

I devour his messages like they are something sacred, like they hold a piece of him I can keep for myself. And they do—because every word, every little punctuation mark, every slight inflection of his tone is so him, so undeniably wrapped in his essence, that I find myself reading and rereading, searching for the echoes of something deeper. Does he know? Does he know that every sentence from him feels like a tether, pulling me closer, making me want more? Does he know that even in the smallest things—the way he phrases a joke, the way he texts late into the night, the way he lingers just long enough before saying goodbye—I find entire universes to hold onto?

And oh, how I ache. I ache in a way that is both beautiful and unbearable, like something within me has been set on fire, and only he knows how to soothe it. I want him in ways that make no sense, in ways I cannot contain. I want to hear his voice without distance muddying the sound, without a screen separating us, without timezones and circumstances stealing moments that could have been ours. I want to see his expression when he laughs, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, the way his hands move when he talks about something he loves. I want to memorize the details that no message could ever hold, the quiet, unspoken parts of him that exist in the spaces between words.

There is something so devastating about longing like this—about wanting something you can’t reach, about feeling something that has nowhere to go. I wonder if he ever feels it too. If he ever hesitates before texting me, if his heart stutters the way mine does, if he ever wishes I were closer, not just in words but in the space beside him. I wonder if, in some quiet, unguarded moment, he’s ever thought of me and felt something—something impossible to name, something not quite love but not far from it either.

And yet, even in the aching, there is joy. The sheer thrill of seeing his name, of hearing from him, of knowing that, for a moment, he is thinking of me too. That is enough. And it is not enough.

I want more. I want him in ways I can’t even admit to myself. I want the weight of his gaze settling on me like a secret. I want the warmth of his presence beside me, the casual intimacy of a touch that lingers a second longer than necessary. I want the slow unraveling of barriers, the quiet moments where everything feels right, where the space between us disappears, where the longing I carry in my chest finally has somewhere to land.

And maybe one day, it won’t be a message lighting up my screen. Maybe it will be him, standing before me, close enough to touch. Maybe one day, I won’t have to wonder what his voice sounds like in the morning or how his laughter feels when it’s shared between just us. Maybe one day, I won’t have to wait.

But until then, I will ache, and I will yearn, and I will wait for the next message. The next glimpse of him. The next small moment where, even from afar, he is mine, even if only for a heartbeat.