Enough

A grain of rice is a small and unremarkable thing. Enough to sustain a life, given enough of them. But who has ever been satisfied with merely being sustained?

There is a peculiar cruelty in abundance. The more we have, the more exquisitely we understand what we lack. And so we feast, we savour, we reach. We mistake the pleasure of wanting for the promise of being satisfied.

The plate is empty. The appetite, regrettably, is not.

Perhaps just one more.