to be in want

Eternal moments resist being calcified into artifacts. Is that why they're so damn fleeting?

Where does feeling go when it is languishing? Where does passion go when it is no longer... passion? Or was it ever?

I want passion to be constant. It does not feel constant. It is annoyingly ineffable. Liquid. Graspable for, oh, maybe a few seconds in the blurp of God's outer-space--

His own world that feels so out of sync with mine.

Is there a second-hand store that sells old feelings? Fashions that were once all the rage, but are now stained?

Pieces of clothing that held so much promise of beauty and success and fitting in with the 7th grade lunch crowd.... But now the era has past--and the magenta bodysuits and corduroy Levi's and flannel shirts seem more stinky than sexy. And I don't need them anymore.

What to do when the clothes don't seem to fit...

I could patch them up, but I don't know how to sew. And it's far more fun to go on a shopping spree.

But there's no money. And those same clothes will end up in Goodwill in three years; five if we're lucky.

I love to be in want; I hate to be in want. Clothes that do not wear out. A drink that does not dry up. Always satisfied. Would that be boring or would it be fulfillment? Clothes that don't wear out seem like no clothes at all. Does fulfillment even fit into this order of things?

...want to be naked, want to be covered. I want.