the yearn

I had a dream that I yearned for something. I yearned for it hard. I don’t remember what it was exactly, but I remember the feeling—the feeling of such a desire that deep down I knew it would be unobtainable. If it had been obtainable, it would have been too good. Too satisfactory. Too euphoric if I had succeeded in grasping my yearn.

Or would it have been? Perhaps I would have been letdown because I had the bar raised excruciatingly high and disappointment instead would have consumed me. The bigger the yearn, the bigger the mess.

I am not sure which is worse:

Yearning and never obtaining or yearning, obtaining, and being disappointed.

I remember, in my dream, feeling like the yearn would never stop, never go away, always be lingering at the tip of my soul. Or perhaps deeply rooted. Either or, it would be miserable to keep with me. To have this feeling tag along wherever I was, whatever I was doing, the feeling would be there, reminding me that it’s not leaving my side. It’s sitting parallel to anxiety.

Would it have dissipated if I obtained it?

Would it have grown faint if I discovered a new yearn to replace it?

The ache killed me in my sleep. I’ll never know the object of my desire, but I’ve always known the sensation of a good yearn.