How is it that I long for something I already possess?

I feel an orphan, though I lack not
my emotions feel imposter

like those of true loss,
my heart aches for more than a shadow
moreover, I carry the guilt of this pang
with knowledge of those who carry authentic sorrow

I ask the question.
Is bruised fruit better than nil?
Is bread, molded and crumby, better than none at all?

I know you love me, but do you enjoy me?
obligation does not breed true affection.
dutiful acceptance falls short
I long for a genuine, tangible love