i am breaking in two. breaking into a million smaller pieces, each a distinct version of myself. i read others writing and something so deep in me moves that i cannot breathe. i long for knowledge and truth and beauty and desire. oh how i am famished for passion. i want to love and hurt and i want my ache to mean something. you say a heart is a fragile thing, but why is mine not breaking? i should be dead but i'm thriving. more then merely surving and yet...it is still not enough. i have no answers. i have no truth. all i have is longing for things i can never attain. so many figs, not enough time. i want to devour them so grandly that the juice spills from my mouth and my hands are stained. i want to know what it feels like to not be empty. to be full to overflowing so that i might pour on those around me. passion is worthless if it's not shared. i was made for more. my soul silently screams, i was meant for more. the very rythym of heart pounds out, i was made for more.