Saturation: The Ache That Ate the Sky #BlogchatterA2Z #poetry

I saw you again—no,
I was you again—
slipping into the folds of memory like smoke returning to its fire.
You, he, she, they, me—we are the same pulse now,
the same gnawing mouth at the center of a chest
so hollow it echoes
when truth dares knock.

You miss them.
That’s what you call it.
But I know better.
It’s not just missing.
It’s a hunger with teeth,
a craving that sits between your ribs and chews
on the spaces they used to fill.

He once said,
“It’s just longing.”
But it’s more like a swarm of bees in the bloodstream.
Or static in the bones.
Or a thousand echoes saying “not enough, not enough, not enough.”

You wake up with your phone as a second pillow.
No new messages.
And still, you scroll—
through the past, through what-ifs, through might-be’s.
You scroll until even your fingerprints remember their skin.

They aren’t here.
Not now. Not ever in the way you need.
And still, you orbit.
Still, you hope for a collision—
for stars to fall out of their eyes
and into your begging mouth.

I kissed their name once,
on the screen,
on my own palm,
on the air between thoughts.
It wasn’t enough.
Nothing is.

There’s a strange geometry to desire.
Angles of obsession.
Curves of ache.
A triangle of past-you, present-you, and ghost-them
always meeting in the center
where your chest caves in.

She stands in front of the mirror,
smiles like a hostage
and counts the seconds since their last touch.
Five hundred and something.
A thousand and one.
Time doesn’t heal—it sharpens.

You pretend to be fine.
You say "I'm good."
You say it like a lie
wrapped in nice paper,
tied with the ribbon of nervous laughter.

But you know what nervous looks like.
You see it in every reflection.
The twitch in your eye when they text back "k."
The tremor in your finger hovering over "are you mad at me?"

He rewatches the message three times.
She checks their last seen.
You replay the hug in looped IMAX in your brain.
We are addicts.
Not of love—no.
Of proximity.
Of possibility.
Of permission to feel too much.

I dreamt we merged.
Not metaphorically.
Physically.
Molecules clinging like humidity to skin.
But even in dreams,
they pulled away
before I could say stay.

Stay.
Stay.
Stay.
A whisper tattooed on your tongue
but never loud enough to cross dimensions.

You think you’re losing your mind.
You’re right.
But it’s a consensual surrender, isn’t it?
Letting them live inside your thoughts
rent-free,
eating your peace like pomegranate seeds.

She laughs at your jokes,
leans in like maybe,
smiles like almost,
but kisses someone else.
And your stomach learns to twist like origami.

You imagine futures
that fold in on themselves
when real life doesn’t align.
You want forever.
They offer now.
You take it like a starving dog—
thankful and trembling.

I can still smell them in shirts I never wore with them.
How is that possible?
Their ghost is better at haunting
than the living are at staying.

Your heart races
when the phone buzzes.
It’s never them.
Or worse—
it is.
But it’s not the message you needed.

You needed “I miss you too.”
You got “cool.”
You needed a storm.
You got a drizzle
that soaked your hope just enough
to ruin the day.

He tells himself he’s strong.
That he can quit this.
But he checks their page again at 2:16 a.m.
And again at 2:17.
Love is a terrible drug
when withdrawal looks like silence.

You say you want to love them.
But really, you want them to fix something broken
that’s been rattling inside since before they ever arrived.

They didn’t cause the ache.
They just gave it a name.
And now it answers every time you whisper.

She once gave a half-smile across a room,
and you built a lifetime in your head.
A house.
A song.
A child with their eyes.
You named the stars after their freckles.

And when they walked away,
you forgot how to end a sentence.
You forgot how to breathe without picturing
how they’d exhale next to you.

You were never whole.
But they made the hollow parts
feel like deliberate architecture.

They leave.
Every time.
Even when they say they won’t.
You watch the door close
and wait like a prayer
that doesn’t believe in gods anymore.

I’m tired of craving.
But the craving isn't tired of me.

It wakes up in my sheets.
It eats with me.
It holds my hand while I try to hold someone else.
It whispers their name
into the ribs I try to armor.

There is no off-switch.
No exorcism.
Just
Saturation.

The ache spreads
until even my shadow limps.

#Poem #Love #ObsessiveLonging #Verse #Poetry #Craving #EmotionalAche #ThreeVoicesOneAche #MagneticDesire

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