If I could only...

You can't possibly know, then. You don't understand what it means. You don't get how it feels to really, completely, heart-crushingly want.

If you did, you wouldn't just say it so easily.

I ache inside with the desire for this thing that I do not have; I am crushed down into a pinprick spike of crystallized longing.

I know not having this thing won't kill me, but I have no desire to keep living without it.

Do you understand that? I don't think you do. You're just going to call me dramatic and walk away with a flip comment.

"Just do something about it, then."

That's how I know, you know. You don't get it.

I'm a crystal of want, and rocks can't move.