I miss wanting things.
Wanting things with a fury.
To drown in pure want.
Life has been going so well;
I have everything I want.
Good job. I enjoy it.
It provides for all of my needs
and many of my simple wants.
Good boyfriend who's moved to be with me.
And, after months of wanting each other hours away,
we've got a nice domestic rhythm.
We're healthy, we exercise.
I drink tea and do yoga.
I am relaxed and centered.
Nothing to be worried about.
Nothing to be anxiety ridden about.
Because everything is going so damn well.
It's not that I don't want these things.
To be relaxed and comfortable unfamiliar.
But I do miss wanting.
I miss the experience of desperate need.
Of gnawing your fingers raw
Staying up all night, tossing and turning and churning.
A manic energy exists with want,
real want, pure want.
I want that.