Wants more and more

Marie Howe wrote one of my favorite poems. It's called "What the Living Do." Even though this poem is not about romantic love, the poem captures a concept of love I find important.
         I won't post the poem in it's entirety here, but I will include the part that I repeat to myself quite often:

We want the spring to come and the winter to pass. We want
whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss--we want more and more and then more of it.

But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass,
say, the window of the corner video store, and I'm gripped by a cherishing so deep
for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I'm speechless:
I am living. I remember you.

The first time that I discovered this poem, only a small piece of the above quotation was in an issue of Real Simple. I forget to appreciate the fact that I can feel the chill of the wind dancing across my face. I forget that I am able to feel that wanting for more and more.
          When I wake up feeling lonely, I should remind myself to be grateful that I am alive. But most of all, I forget that I have the capacity to love. I just haven't found that someone to love quite yet.