Disclaimer: I don't own anything
It's hard to want, partly because he never used to, and partly because it aches, a dull, throbbing pain closing its large heavy fists around the heart.
It was so simple before. Whenever The Pull started he would simply stand up and go looking/searching/yearning for That Person who seemed to fill his chest with warm bubbly fluttery feelings but he hadn't thought of it that way before, because he was still so young, and thought that the affection he felt was the one someone held for a parent/mentor/brother/friend. He wasn't plagued with wanting before.
Before Life with him started, there was the Life from Before. It was a time he'd rather not think about, and he tried not to think of it and he succeeded, mostly, but sometimes at night the Life from Before visits, unbidden, with large black scaly wings and claws that glinted in the moonlight, to torment him with dreams of a still-painfully-embedded-to-his-mind time he wished he could never ever remember.
It was full of terror-filled darkness and salty tears that flowed down black/blue/purple/yellow cheeks, and of whimpers and cries of pain that went unheard and of all encompassing hunger. Hunger for warmth, touch, affection, company - those pinpricks of desolation was felt more deeply, more cuttingly than the aching emptiness of his belly. It was a lonely, cruel existence - where everything was shades of black and white and gray and everything seemed so far away that he only yearned for one thing - for everything to end.
He learned not to want, because there wasn't any use for wanting anything and most of all, it was painful. Reaching out and yearning after something was pointless - because if freaks like him don't even get what they need, how could he get something that he wanted? He learned to make do with what he did have, which wasn't much and even more than less. He learned not to hope, because hoping caused even more pain than just simply wanting, and hoping and wanting at the same time hurt a lot more that just simply wanting.
But now desires and the feeling of wanting and hoping rose up again in his chest, and even though he tried to squash it down by ignoring it, by looking for other things/persons/places to want other than Him, it wouldn't work. Why was it that he longed for something that was achingly, painfully, out of the reach of his outstretched arms and hands that strained but still couldn't even touch?