Wild, deep, and anguished. It was torment, yearning, with stones tied to the back of the throat.
The first miracle was that she had burst into existence, and the second was that her existence had crossed with his. All he needed was a third. His ribs wrung with the eons-old pang. His ears rang with it. It was not quite love, nor mere lust. Each time he fell for this new someone, he felt savagely alive and dying to be requited.
It wasn’t love.
It was grieving.
Grieving the loss of what hadn’t yet been, and might never be.