Its a constant piece of embedded glass in his heart, digging deeper at every glance. The worse of it all is that instead of digging in to rip it out, he only presses it more, trying to make the pain fade by wish, always, for more.
I’ve been longing to leave this place forever. The wallpaper is peeling and the floor smells of urine. But I can’t leave, they watch the windows, they watch my every move.
Everytime he lay in his bed, he tought about her. About her touching his hand. About his hand covering hers. He knew what that was: It was longing. He was longing for her so badly. He also knew that was dangerous. For both of them.
I have been longing for the Paradise to come soon and there will be no more sickness or death. The animals will be nice to humans. I am longing for the paradise.
Who is this person I’ve become, that I don’t recognize? When I was born, was there a seed in my brain that contained this ridiculous person, a seed that sprouted a neuroses, mind-shackles like a slow death sentence that unfurled as I grew, its sneaky tendrils like SEALs on a mission, in this case to conquer my garden of Eden, now run by despotic serpents?
The moments in which we stand, watching people and things, but never really seeing them are the moments we never really recognize ourselves because we’re too busy not noticing anything else.
there are so many times that I just want to punch a wall and feel the ripple of bones shattering throughout my hand, into my wrist, and thn crumbling throughout my entire body.
Longing, a terrible and awesome feeling. We long for love, we long for comfort, sometimes we long to be alone amongst a crowd of strangers. I, right now, long for happiness.
I long for the days when I could go outside and dig in the dirt, add water and make Gilligan’s Island in the mud. I longed to be on that actual island, in the tiny boat floating in my tiny pond. There was nothing else to worry about in the world, nothing at all.
Longing is what you feel when the tide is at its lowest point. Longing is the taste of a meal your mother used to make that you can never quite replicate.
Once wet and juicy, it had slowly given up its moisture, darkened and dried, pretending to be as the dust that surrounded it. How it came to live in such inhabitable conditions is a mystery, but still it persisted. Still it remained. Because it was hardy. It was true. It was. How could it be anything beyond its nature? And like the succulent that waits for the rain – its only purpose is to be filled… and then to bloom.
There is no longing here only the absence of want or need. Desire evaporates.
“Utopia,” they proclaim, “isn’t it perfect!” Of course it’d be phrased rhetorically.
But I know better, as there is no such place and that is the longest running joke.
My One Word for today is Longing. I suppose you could say I have a longing to better myself and improve my lifestyle but really really struggle at sticking to any written or desired goals. I long to be a fitter, healthier person but mental health always kicks me down once I’ve come up with sustainable plans for doing this. I have a longing to improve almost every aspect of my life.
People long for many thing. They may long for a loved one or a pet. But who ever heard of longing for a tree or flower. We long for the important things but we never long for the little things. So next time you see a little flower die think about how important that little flower really is.
She hasn’t heard any news from him since last week. She’s starting to worry if she had offended him, whether she had said something which enraged his senses for him not to respond to her texts. Of course, she knew it was something deeper than that. She only agreed on this date in the first place because her friend told her to. Sort of like a testing ground whether he would make the cut or not–and he did make the cut–but it was also the same for him. The roles have been reversed. Instead of him circling around her palms, it was her who was longing for him even more than she imagined it should be. He had her, and he had her good.
The girl never really understood what longing means… until she saw the back of the boy slowly walking away, and heard the quiet steps he make resounding in her ears. The sound of longing.
I am longing for sleep and an end to this dreadful work.
Its a constant piece of embedded glass in his heart, digging deeper at every glance. The worse of it all is that instead of digging in to rip it out, he only presses it more, trying to make the pain fade by wish, always, for more.
I’ve been longing to leave this place forever. The wallpaper is peeling and the floor smells of urine. But I can’t leave, they watch the windows, they watch my every move.
for a long time now, I have been longing to have a deserted island all to myself!
I can’t believe shes gone
it was a few days, or maybe weeks.
She was gone as quick as she came
Everytime he lay in his bed, he tought about her. About her touching his hand. About his hand covering hers. He knew what that was: It was longing. He was longing for her so badly. He also knew that was dangerous. For both of them.
She sat at the window longing for the chocolate bar and a milkshake, but she didn’t know that they were poisoned.
for the summer
I have been longing for the Paradise to come soon and there will be no more sickness or death. The animals will be nice to humans. I am longing for the paradise.
There’s no denying the look in his eyes; there’s no denying that longing.
“Astor, please,” he whispers. “This is what I want. This is what I’ve wanted for so long now.”
Who is this person I’ve become, that I don’t recognize? When I was born, was there a seed in my brain that contained this ridiculous person, a seed that sprouted a neuroses, mind-shackles like a slow death sentence that unfurled as I grew, its sneaky tendrils like SEALs on a mission, in this case to conquer my garden of Eden, now run by despotic serpents?
The moments in which we stand, watching people and things, but never really seeing them are the moments we never really recognize ourselves because we’re too busy not noticing anything else.
there are so many times that I just want to punch a wall and feel the ripple of bones shattering throughout my hand, into my wrist, and thn crumbling throughout my entire body.
I feel longing my mother. She dead at past two years old. She was an angel.
Longing, a terrible and awesome feeling. We long for love, we long for comfort, sometimes we long to be alone amongst a crowd of strangers. I, right now, long for happiness.
I long for the days when I could go outside and dig in the dirt, add water and make Gilligan’s Island in the mud. I longed to be on that actual island, in the tiny boat floating in my tiny pond. There was nothing else to worry about in the world, nothing at all.
Longing is what you feel when the tide is at its lowest point. Longing is the taste of a meal your mother used to make that you can never quite replicate.
Once wet and juicy, it had slowly given up its moisture, darkened and dried, pretending to be as the dust that surrounded it. How it came to live in such inhabitable conditions is a mystery, but still it persisted. Still it remained. Because it was hardy. It was true. It was. How could it be anything beyond its nature? And like the succulent that waits for the rain – its only purpose is to be filled… and then to bloom.
He, I think, is my sun and moon. I do love him. But I long for that romance that we use to have. I wonder where it went.
It seeps out with every heaving breath, slithers its way out of me with every step, every motion, every thought.
And soon, I will be empty.
The needle’s going down, down, down; I’m running on fumes and my body screams for rest (rest, and more rest).
But the fight isn’t over yet and I have to hurry if I want my reward.
There is no longing here only the absence of want or need. Desire evaporates.
“Utopia,” they proclaim, “isn’t it perfect!” Of course it’d be phrased rhetorically.
But I know better, as there is no such place and that is the longest running joke.
When I think of longing I think of Daniel. He was in captivity in Babylon. He longed for Isreal and couldn’t wait to return.
longing is hunger
My One Word for today is Longing. I suppose you could say I have a longing to better myself and improve my lifestyle but really really struggle at sticking to any written or desired goals. I long to be a fitter, healthier person but mental health always kicks me down once I’ve come up with sustainable plans for doing this. I have a longing to improve almost every aspect of my life.
Perseverance, don’t give, up. Craving, Demanding. Wanting Something.
People long for many thing. They may long for a loved one or a pet. But who ever heard of longing for a tree or flower. We long for the important things but we never long for the little things. So next time you see a little flower die think about how important that little flower really is.
Longing
I’ve been longing to see you for what seem’s like forever.
It’s been so long i don’t seem to remember.
What you look like.
-the end
The longing she felt was so overpowering that she knew one day it would come to be. He would come into her life, but when? That was the question.
She hasn’t heard any news from him since last week. She’s starting to worry if she had offended him, whether she had said something which enraged his senses for him not to respond to her texts. Of course, she knew it was something deeper than that. She only agreed on this date in the first place because her friend told her to. Sort of like a testing ground whether he would make the cut or not–and he did make the cut–but it was also the same for him. The roles have been reversed. Instead of him circling around her palms, it was her who was longing for him even more than she imagined it should be. He had her, and he had her good.
The girl never really understood what longing means… until she saw the back of the boy slowly walking away, and heard the quiet steps he make resounding in her ears. The sound of longing.
I am longing for a longtime friend. I am looking forward to their visit!