I wanted him in the bluntest way. I wanted his lips, his hands, his arms. I wanted him the way the ocean wants the shore, constantly reaching and running back. I wanted him the way the rain wants to fall, the way the sun wants to shine, the way words want to be read. I wanted him to infinity, to the millionth degree. No amount of rain could douse the fire I had in me for him.
The ocean, sun, rain and words don't want any of those related things. And even if they did, they could only want them in some emotionless, instictive way. They might be great metaphors, but not for "want".