In a place in time

In a place in time, I write this to pour out my very core. My innermost being. For years I have strived for something greater than myself, a spectacle. If only I could have this anomaly within the palm of my hands. A pearl which no one else has ever seen or heard of, something incomprehensible. Something of great value, high prestige, mythical character. An unfathomable treasure, unique to solely me. I want it as a fire yearns and cries for oxygen. It simply wishes to grow and grow and grow and grow, continually until it possibly can’t anymore. I want this sustenance, this power, this oddity, this, anomaly. An anomaly of my own. Something that no one else has. I want to hoard it like a great thief, I want to cherish it like a mother does her firstborn. I want to put it on high so the world may see it. I want to hide it away so only I can ever be graced with its presence. I want to wield it within my very hands. I want to use it until it can’t possibly be used anymore. I want perfection, a force, a connection greater than myself. Tear me apart and find this, a small infant screaming a guttural cry for milk. It will not stop screeching, even after it has been amply fed. This nature wishes to take the path of least resistance, it wishes to hoard this anomaly, yet if it is just out of reach, just beyond its comfort zone, it will not go out and seize it. It will not go out and grab ahold of it. Instead, it will find anything within its radius of comfort which it can grab a hold of and drain it dry of all of the pleasure it could possibly offer. For this is such, that this magnetism inside of me yearns for infinity, yet it only reaches for that which is finite. A chasing after the wind.