when you miss someone and even if you go away, that intense longing still lingers inside. It’s like no matter what I attempt to do, it stays, like a hungry dog chomping on a bone, like there’s no more tomorrow coming.
Winterson said that there is a single pulse belonging to someone’s hand that you will hold, among all other worldly rhythms.
And it’s not with me now. Irritating.
Though, to be honest, this is the irritation I secretly am craving for.