(in Portuguese folk culture) a deep emotional state of melancholic longing for a person or thing that is absent:

the theme of saudade in literature and music.
Kink is my oxygen, without it, I cannot breathe. Blood becomes heavy with melancholic thoughts, heart slows, pulse indicates bare existence, visceral, nothing more.

Time is the enemy here;the bated breath holding until the next blow falls, the disconsolate blue tinge of oxygen deprivation creeps deeper as I wait.

Imagery is a cruel master, throwing me titbits of longing, brutally cold to touch.
I shut them down, I cannot look, wrapping myself in memory as I try to keep warm.

It’s cold comfort though, and under the heat of nostalgia, the biting frost remains.
Dust bunnies collect as I paint myself into a corner, deliberately blurring lines that I may become camouflaged, emotions becoming the plaster holding me in place. Layer upon layer of paper placed over to conceal any fracture lines which have the audacity to appear.
Emotion must not leak, lest it’s ferocity thaws the frost, and I drown under the violent cascade.