grasping for ...

There is a loneliness in her eyes that he wants to fix, for he is a fixer. But he knows that fixing only gets him in trouble. So, he puts away the idea and thinks this, instead: she has the soul of a poet, it seems. She writes with her smile and the way her eyes shine at times, though not enough, he thinks, too, for she knows that her eyes give her away, betray her. So she looks away, then back, never lingering too long on his, never allowing him to see too deeply, too clearly into her. He sleeps apart from her and leaves later. And he wonders how she might feel in his grasp, or if he could even grasp her. So, he wonders, too, if pulling her to him is even possible.