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What do we mortals do when we’ve given up on love?

When we’ve given up on finding that exquisite kind of love…the one we know exists. We’ve had it before; it was real (wasn’t it?). The kind of love that makes us incapable of settling for anything less than an all-consuming, passionate, dripping, aching connection with another.

I’ve had that kind of love…a few times. I gave those loves away because the moon was full or the grass looked greener or I was terrible at communicating my needs. Mostly because I was too young and silly to understand it wasn’t the norm. I thought I would feel that deeply each time. I didn’t. I haven’t. I don’t think I ever will again.

So, we do what we can to fill that gaping hole in our hearts, the one that feels like it has shrunk so small from not being used, not being felt—yet it gets ripped open wider each time that we remember what we felt before, and that becomes today’s ache of loneliness.

And the mind, what do we feed our mind with when we can no longer fantasize about the next time we see them, the one who occupies all our mental energy. Watching rom-coms feel formulaic and vapid, reading classics like Pride & Prejudice only makes us long for that type of ending, and beginning.

And our breath. It’s been years since my breath was held captive by the thought or touch of another.

Usually, I avoid sappy, romantic anything in life. I just become utilitarian when those thoughts arise. Shhhh, don’t go there, Jules.

But recently while gathering up quotes on the moon, I stumbled upon and into some delicious poetry by Sanober Khan. The more I searched for suitable quotes, the more I found from her that just spoke to my heart and mind and breath.

Here are some achingly gorgeous poems that remind me of how my heart once thumped and yearned for another human’s love:

“Hands.
Cheeks.
Eyes.
Lips.
Neck.
Ears.
Thighs.
Heart.
Soul.

Ahh!
the things I get to
savor you with.”

“Your gaze
across
my cheeks

turned them
into
strawberry fields.”

“You ask
if I will write a poem
I could,
I suppose
write the most
splendiferous
one of all

but not
right
now
not when

your hands
are brewing
warm
cinnamon tea
across my skin

not when I’m
trying to imagine
what might happen
if you began
flowering
kisses
upon
me

My dear,
how can
I write
a poem
when I’m already
inside one?”

“Your hand
touching mine.
this is how
galaxies
collide.”

“In the afterglow
of an evening rain

i lay down
in the grass
and think of you

my body aches
like an after-kiss

breaking in soft fires
and wildflowers

my dear,
i will always be
this tender for you.”

“I want to be
in love with you

the same way
i am in
love with the moon

with the light
shining
out of its soul.”

“Lean in to kiss me
in all the places

where the ache
is
the most special.”

“You are ever
the only one

i want to give
all the peaches
in my heart to

the only one
by whom
i want them bruised.”

“For you
i have saved poems
under my skin.”

“Sometimes i don’t know, which moment
which cool gust of wind will come,
and enchant me
tousling my hair
and my heart,

stirring…that familiar ache of poetry,

which drop will kiss
the old wrench in my soul
reminding me, all over again

i miss you better in the rain.”

“There is
something
mystically
sad
and beautiful
about
how
i will
never
see you
again

but
meet you
again
and again

in poetry.”

“Funny how our hearts
were designed
to love
so fiercely.

but break
ever so gently.”

“I write
because

it is
the only way

i can
reach you.”

“With callused hands
i tasted
the softness of the moon

in the coldest winds
i discovered
my soul’s
warmest fireplace

in the roughness
of his stubble
the tenderest love.”

“The most
beautiful tide

is the sweep
of your heart
against mine.”

“Leave me a smile
just warm enough…
to spend a million
golden afternoons in.”

“I wish to stay drenched
forever
in those rain-blue eyes
in those…soul-reaching crystals

not moving a muscle
nor breathing
just
savoring
this turquoise ache
against my heart.”

“And the afterglow…
of your gaze…is the only
sweater that I need.”

“i am
always
stalking you, my dear.

with my thoughts
my words.
my breath.”

“Tell me..how do you stand there?
filling the doorway….of my life.”

“She’s got
oceans
tucked away
in her hair

poems swim
under her skin.”

“I want to have a romance so grand,
it would have made Shakespeare fumble for words.”

“For those memories are now
just like these little kittens
I hold in my hands

those can be kissed
and treasured
but not held too tightly.”

“Tread carefully
into my life, my dear.

the currents
are strong.

you will get lost
in this
warm ocean
of my skin.”

“…I spill into
the kind of silence
only Khalil Gibran would understand.”

“I am either
a storm
or
a drought.

in-betweens
have never
been my thing.”

“Love me…with all the abandon
of a sudden wild rain.”

~