Did you ever have an itch that just could not be reached?
Such an irritant is an inhumane torture; permeated with insatiable needs and impossible relief. I have known some likewise tormented people to try unnatural contortions and disjointed bodily positions in an attempt to calm their exigent urges. Some are so hopeless, I suppose, that they choose unlikely albeit convenient contrivances in the desperate hope that a surrogate might provide their needed succor. Those expedient remedies seldom provide anything more than the most fleeting respite from the hell of a needed touch left too distant from the unattended cravings. I know there are some that try to ignore their duress, hoping in vain that the feelings will subside with time, and their body might once again return to the stasis of pre-vexation.
None of these remedies ever worked for me; no repositioning, no ersatz balm in costumed disguise, no duration of abided misery; my torture continues. There is no substitute for my much needed scratch, nor will time heal my insatiate desires, for I am plagued with a constant barrage of mnemonics that keeps my provocation inflamed and still just out of reach.
Have you ever had an itch like that? One you wished beyond all hope you could scratch and yet know that you never will.
Yes, I knew an unrequited love, too.