"Saudade"

Portuguese- The feeling of intense longing for a person or place you love but is now lost. A haunting desire for what is gone.

Moving wasn't possible.

Not for a lack of want or will since there could be no greater desire than to escape, run, flee, hope to live. Rather that the mind cannot conquer the matter of this forced paralysis.

There are hands. Thin appendages that slither over the skin, skittering across the soul. They pulse with heat and selfish need, pumping ice and fear into the body.

It was painful trying to substantiate physical intimacy for what they have lost, looking for their spirits between the sheets and grasping for breath in their gasps.

Being filled should not feel so hollow.

The aftermath is worse, if there is such a state more horrific than the act of replacing companionship with the carnal. It would've been better with an actual stranger instead of staring into familiar eyes, searching for a heart that is now foreign.

There is an ache that is more then just muscles and bones, an emptiness not limited to between bruised thighs.

It is the pain of yearning for the missing fragment of your being, the yawning, screaming space in the expanse of your arms.

And the throb is felt in your chest, pulsating in your throat for the fragment that has shattered into dust carried away on breathless, nameless pants and afterglow tears.

And the space continues to scream, pleading and mocking in the darkness of a room that has heard more moans than laughter.

- Ariadne Grey