a love letter to longing

Love, this morning, is longing:  a bittersweet ache in my chest that I follow down, down, down during the quiet before dawn. 

At first, I find only envy and the despair of unfulfilled desires. 

I continue down, down, down into the ache. 

There, deeper still, a whisper emerges: I begin to sense that longing can give rise to potential and possibility.

Longing can become a north star pointing from what is to what can be.