This giant cauldron of feeling that you carry around where your heart should be, and you cook up some love for other people and dole it out to them in steaming cups of the flavor of praise and admiration, bubbles of you go girl and the thick heady scent of I love you the way you are because you heard that was the right way to love, because it's the way you want to be loved, but when the camera swings back around to you, there you are with your aching and longing, your expectant face, your want for payback which, sweetheart, proves that you were never loving in the first place, not really, not the way you like to think. You were placing bets, putting your money on the queen of cups and hoping that once just once somebody would put enough in your bowl to satisfy you. You weren't even looking to have it overflow, just to the brim, like your eyes with tears when the third unconditional serving is handed from your (not actually) generous hands and the thankful smile turns and walks away. Say what you want to make it fine; say you don't need anything, never wanted anyway, easy enough to live without, but if that's true then why is there a tally book in your head and why do you only remember what you give away? Hint: It is not giving if you keep track. You say into a room filled with people that it hurts when people ignore you, or pretend to pay attention and do not, and your voice echoes against the empty walls because nobody wanted to be invited to this, and it turns out the echo of your own voice hurts even more. I'm sorry, I love you, or anyway I want to, but my darling: your need is fathomless, meaning both it never ends and it cannot be comprehended. It makes you hard to be around, and even though I really want to love you the way you are, even though I really want to