Hunger for You
I never knew how to explain the ache that consumed me whenever he was near. It was a visceral, starving kind of longing—a desire to hold him with such force that he could never slip away from my life. I loved him with a depth that defied language, a passion that burned in the quiet spaces between us.
We were at the cinema, the dim light of the screen casting flickering shadows across our faces. I was there with a girl, a lovely companion who meant nothing compared to the man sitting a few seats away. When he suddenly stood up to leave, I felt the air vanish from my lungs. I couldn’t breathe without him in the room, even if he didn’t look at me, even if he didn’t speak my name.
“I’m just hungry… I’m going to get some popcorn,” I lied to my date, my voice trembling. But I wasn’t hungry for snacks. I was hungry for him. I wanted the taste of his skin, the heat of his breath against my neck, and the electric touch of his hand against my waist. I followed him into the dim hallway, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
When I caught up to him, he turned, his eyes dark with a mirrored hunger. He didn’t say a word; he simply pinned me against the cool wall, his mouth crashing onto mine in a desperate, starving kiss. In that moment, the world outside the hallway ceased to exist. There was only the scent of his cologne and the overwhelming need to finally be consumed by the fire we had both tried so hard to ignore.