Jerry Seinfeld had a stand-up routine that riffed on the stereotypical maternal warning that, if you ate cookies before dinner, you'd ruin your appetite.
The key line for me is when he says, "So what if you ruin it? See, because as an adult, we understand even if you ruin an appetite, there's another appetite coming right behind it."
I've read or listened to debates on what constitutes happiness. Happiness can appear to be a state in which you've got everything you want. Your desires are satiated; the inherent tension in wanting but not having is relieved, and you may rest content.
The conundrum in this is that it won't be long after you have satisfied all your wants that new wants appear. There's always another appetite.
But that isn't all, is it? Perhaps you've felt, as I do, a deep thirst for a satisfaction you would not know how to pursue. You cannot even be sure you know the name of what you desire.
Perhaps you lie, unable to sleep, and a thought begins: "I want…. I just wish… If only I…"
And it occurs to you that you cannot complete the sentence.
Or perhaps that's just me. Something like this was on my mind when I wrote a flash fiction piece called "It Is One Hundred Years since Our Children Left", which has just been published in Impossible Task no. 8.
The piece is from my collection Melancholic Parables, which I hope to bring out in some form or other this year. My heart is set on having a physical book, but I'm broke as a joke, so send any angel investors my way, if you would.