(no subject)

It's not exactly loneliness, the half-formed ache pulsing slowly and gently in my heart. There's a measure of that, yes, but it's also longing for something that is so close to tangible that I can almost taste it. It's like the smell of winter coming, on chilly autumn nights when you can almost imagine snow on the air, and you want to open your mouth wide and bite down onto the scent of dry leaves and cold earth and roll it around in your mouth. And then winter arrives and it's all around you and the longing changes, becoming a yearning for spring and the sound of melting snowbanks and the heat of the sun on your back.