At one time or another, most of us will feel longing in some way: a road not taken, a friend who moved, disappointment with work, wanting to have children…the list goes on. Sometimes, we can’t put our finger on what we’re longing for; everything is just permeated by a vacuum.
I’ve come to think of longing as hope’s sick cousin. Like hope, longing looks toward something it doesn’t have. But whereas hope fuels optimism and nurtures endurance, longing slowly poisons with despair. Below is a poem I wrote about longing that also helped me process some I was dealing with. This poem appears in my book, Event Horizon, which just came out on Amazon.
Longing Longing is grief’s daydream. It dances alone, holding an empty hand, touching an empty waist. Longing is a stalker. Longing folds its hands and prays to an empty chair. It is a stare-way your eyes climb alone. Longing wishes upon a black hole.