Feeling of a depletion, or depletion of a feeling

I have been pondering so much on what is so hopelessly vulnerable, that I just gave up everything I was doing, and decided to lose myself on this page. A lot of things are accumulating in my head and I think describing them all would take me ages to write. 

As I begin to feel my cracks, I retrieve my sketches, old notes and some conversations. While I am searching for the threads between them and the noise within, some memories conjure up to linger a powerful feeling. Suddenly they all scheme up a much deeper play than my words. And a warm flush ignites something inside me, struggling its way within. I am losing myself to it.  

That noise is now slowly depleting inside me. But what's wrong again? I now realize that the beautiful silence I seek for, malfunctions within my system. Here again, I am still, but feeling a strange comfort in this stillness. And amid all this weariness, there a constant feeling of an orgasmic bliss.

A feeling so poignant.
A feeling to which all my senses stay committed.
A feeling which is taking a familiar shape that refuses to deplete.
That feeling is You.

I wonder if I'd ever get to to touch You, but I hope my words, said and unsaid, touch You in some way, someday.