Longing Poems Novels & Stories

The sensation was both comforting and slightly exasperating, a constant reminder of the life burgeoning within me. But within that warmth and exasperation, a pang of longing resided. I longed for Marco, my beloved husband who I havent seen for a long time. His absence had left a void within me, an ache that time had failed to heal. I closed my eyes and sent a silent prayer out into the universe, hoping that wherever he was, he was safe and well. "May you find your way to me soon, Marco," I whispered, my voice carrying the weight of my longing. "May our paths converge once more, and may we be reunited in the embrace of our love."

The loneliness was especially palpable during the evenings, as she sat in her apartment overlooking the city, the skyline a stark contrast to the star-studded country skies she was accustomed to. One particular evening, as Jane sat by her window, a letter from Mike in her hand, she felt an intense wave of longing. The letter was about a local fair they used to attend together. As she read his vivid descriptions of the merry-go-round, the cotton candy stalls, and the fireworks, she could almost smell the popcorn, hear the laughter, and see the vibrant colors of the fair. Each word was a stab of nostalgia, amplifying her longing for him.

How much longer can I endure this silence before it unravels me entirely? I do not know. But I know this: if he walked through that door now, if he reached for me, I would forget every tear, every ache, every hollow hour. I would fall into him as though the two years were nothing but a cruel dream. That is the nature of longing-it breaks you, and yet you welcome the breaking. And so I wait. For him. The night presses on. The city hums faintly below. My candle is gone, the air tinged with smoke and lavender.

Her handwriting was neater than I expected. "Bentley, I was the only one who wronged your brother. Don’t hate me." That evening, I bought myself a bouquet of sunflowers. As I walked back to my apartment, the sound of an accordion drifted through the alley. This time, I didn’t quicken my pace.

"And then?" "And then the becoming finishes," Marisol said quietly. "The thing settles into what it actually is rather than what it was built to approximate. And what it actually is—" She stopped. "Tell me," Danielle said. "It is need," Marisol said. "Pure and ancient and without limit. The longing that made it — your longing for him — it lives inside the thing as its core drive. But longing without love becomes possession. Wanting without soul becomes hunger. And the hunger—" She pressed her lips together. "It does not stop. It does not moderate. It grows."

Two souls tangled not just in limbs, but in longing. No longer strangers. Not quite lovers. Something deeper. Something neither dared define. And maybe they didn’t need to. Because sometimes, in the silence after desire, in the breath after climax, in the stillness where words have no meaning. love waits.

I roared but instantly stopped the minute I noticed that she didn't slow down for a second. The pain in my chest worsened; it ripped through the rope of our bond. Ripping cruelly deep into my bones. Every time she defied it, I bled inside. My heart slammed against my ribcage, like she was trying to chase after her before the rest of me caught up with her. And underneath it all, buried in the fire and torment, was something quieter but infinitely more dangerous: longing. I thought I had mastered the art of shutting up my desires, but they had always been there; I only mastered the act of pretending they weren't there.

To those finding true love: true love,is always understanding,it patient,it stays,it shares your pains and joy And in the last line of the book, she wrote: Love, the kind that stays, isn’t loud. It’s steady. It lingers. Like a whisper at the edge of sleep. Like hope. Like home. it every thing that will ever complete you THE END Dear Readers, please drop Your comment for the review of this book.... and get ready for my next book.. thank you!!!

The crescent moon standing in radiant light, so does the light linger round our souls, intertwining. The sands standing firm in earthly adornment, like an immovable roadside tree, so does my love stand bellicose and accoutred—a lion, Immortal as God The dusts spiraling into a whirlwind, so does my mind spiral at the thought of you as i teleport into a utopia of endless possibilities.

She sobbed uncontrollably, holding me tight and swearing through her tears, "Adam, wait for me. I will come back after I finish my studies and marry you. I'll give you a home. If I let you down, may I die without a whole body." By the time I finished my story, Thomas was already crying so hard he could barely breathe. "You've suffered too much… far too much," he said. "But then, why didn't you get married? Did something happen to her in Abrerica?" I shook my head calmly. "She fell in love with another man." His sobbing stopped abruptly. Thomas wiped his eyes and clenched his fist in fury. "Then she might as well have died in Abrerica!" I sometimes think heaven is simply unfair. Every time I