I am in a constant cycle of make and remake.
Passion ebbs and flows from my core
Subjected to the company surrounding me.
Encircling, intertwining, tainting like a drop of black in an entire pale of white paint.

I have yet to find one person
That draws something from within my very being,
That entirely satisfies and satiates this gnawing in my stomach,
This unrelenting hunger.
What am I starving for?
What is it that I can not help but crave?

If only I knew, if only I knew.

Bethrichter6

Drop of Black

toward western hills 
the last vestiges of light 
sink as day draws down