The missing Rib?

The news keeps telling me there is unrest where you are... My mind thinks about the effects of that, alongside the effects of thoughts of you in my heart here, where it mysteriously pinches and bites. Physically, you nor I can see it. What hurts is knowing that right now in this I am alone. I can pray and find spiritual sanctuary, but my physical form aches to reach out and bridge this distance fast. It wants to walk unruffled, beside the havoc of the strung-out world on display, preciously held within the calm surreal black succour you offered. What you offered may live inside my head for however long it is meant to breathe, as only Allah swt Knows Best. What I beg for, screaming with my insides on fire in my agonising struggle alone, is that promised Mwaddah wa Rahmah, followed by a precious coolness of the eyes, and heart, and mind, and being, insha'Allah ta'Allah. I need more grace than what others see in me, or preach at me. On either ends of that measure I find myself lacking. Take me to him, Ya Allah, whose rib you fashioned me from. My bones wish to be reunited. My being wishes to find home in those arms. My head wishes to rest upon that chest. My heart wishes to hear the synonymous beat. My insides twist with wishes upon wishes not knowing whether this tide will throw itself upon my shore or recede apologetically like all other tides, never to return. One day my shore too will not be left dry. InshaAllah, Ameen.