"Assuming for yourself the sorrow of my body

thus, when you solace me in my desire

I held your body, and lay beside it sleeping,

feeling the pain of your own inward fire,

weeping myself to hear your silent weeping."

—--

I can't even call what I feel ' a heartache ', it's too banal. ' Melancholy ' is too languorous. ' Grief ' is closest.

— Carlo Marx, On The Road