It’s the Longing That Kills Us

In life I’ve learned that it’s not really the attainment of our desires that has an affect on us, but instead the desiring, itself.  It’s the yearning in our souls, the racing of our minds, and the wishing of our hearts that shape us, and it’s the longing that kills us.

Longing is a silent killer. You can find it in the sigh your heart makes and the places your mind goes, when all the world is quiet. It’s found in the late nights, when everything has gone dark and your eyes are drawn to a sky full of stars. It’s found in the early mornings, as you watch the sun rise, and the sky dance with color, while the world awakens around you. It’s in the first note of that one song, that no matter how many times it has hit your ears, it still causes your lungs to forget how to breathe. It’s in those ordinary, everyday moments, when we find ourselves most at peace, that we are the most vulnerable to the influence of our beings. It is in those moments of stillness that all the things we have tried to dull, stuff down, and ignore come back to hit us and we are awakened to the realization that our hearts are reaching for something… or for someone.

You know that feeling you get when you know you’re forgetting something but can’t quite figure out what it is. That is what longing feels like. It is the constant feeling of misplacement. Like a songwriter composing his arrangements, putting vocals to a song and having it almost perfect, then realizing he can’t find the harmony he hears his head. It’s like completing a puzzle, only to discover you’re missing a piece. It’s that annoying nagging in the back of your mind that things aren’t as they could be…or as the should be. Longing is the heart’s discontent melody begging for the harmony to be found in the heart of another or the fulfillment of a dream.

Longing is an ache that demands to be felt. It slips in without permission, and is so quiet that by time you realize it’s been awakened, it’s already raging inside of you. Longing has a cure, but we have no control as to when it’s cure may come or no surety it ever will. We only have longing and it’s subtle hope that one day something or someone will come and put it to ease.

Today, I can feel the aftermath of longing’s storm and hear it’s whisper like a siren in my being. I can feel it like a panic chord being struck, warning all the other parts of me, of it’s undoing. It’s only a whisper, yet it rings in me like a thousand warning bells. It’s only a whisper, yet it threatens my composure. It’s only a whisper, but in the quiet, most ordinary moments I can hear it’s screams.

It’s the Longing That Kills Us