Though the hole in your chest swells, and the gluttony to stuff it with any reachable matter haunts you -- to plug it up with a stopper, that keeps all the pervading loneliness inside, you're cognizant of the futility of it all. You can pull someone tight to you, grasp at phantoms and mirages, claw at them in possessiveness until their shell runs rivulets of blood, and slowly sneak away the bits of their inner consciousness to store them, devour them hungrily as a person left wanting for a fulfillment unattainable. You can do this, but once you've drained them hollow, and still haven't found what ludicrous feeling you seek, you will toss them aside. Just as you always have before.
But what a beautiful sensation to be found in the misery... for just a few moments, you remember you're alive, anchored to the world you were born in, and not just a specter drifting on the idle winds, trapped in a fog that muddles the mind and strips away all direction. Bittersweet, bittersweet; taste it... what a savory flavour.
Now, you just can't have it any other way.
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