What of Love?

What's worse? Loving too much? Or loving too little?

The former cheapens love as it is given away so eagerly, carelessly.

The latter is the sign of a cold and selfish heart, one that has been too battered to trust.

So what of love? Are we to wrestle it in our youth, regret it in our adulthood, only to lose it in our age? Why can't man be self-sufficient in his own heart?

What cruel creator formed us in halves and scattered us across the globe to be lost to fate?

Bachelors and spinsters are the lucky ones; they have learned to be content with a life lead as a fraction.

But not me.

A cosmological yearning has lodged itself deep within me, fueling my quest for wholeness with a relentless fire. I search for fulfillment at every turn, and like a man stranded in the desert, my thirst will never be quenched. I shall pursue elusive happiness until the day I perish.