My soul cries out at night, as my body lies still, looking for it's other half, and lamenting at it's distance.
It's pain is indescribable, each bittersweet pang reminding it of what it has, yet cannot feel.
My body cries out too, in it's own way, in pleasant dreams, and in the sadness of waking from them.
It's always right there, just beyond my grasp, there is no loss, but rather, a yearning.
A yearning for what I have but still want. For what I want but can't have.