Nothing consumes me whole. Maybe that is the issue. I fall in love with little somethings with every passing moment. My heart is in thousands of pieces, and each piece craves another thousand things. But what is my heart with all the pieces together—what does my heart love as a whole? My whole heart does not beat, for it forgets the once inevitable rhythm.

It is obvious in the constant mayhem of the mind and silence of the heart. My heart is whole now and it does not know what to love. The lack of purpose apparent in every way, wild oscillation of every atom in my body, and yet, I am still dead.

I have decided. Until I find what it is that consumes me whole, I will love the countless little things with the pieces of my heart. Though my love may not be as deep and constant, it is still love.

I will love the watercolor skies, the lingering scent of last night’s lit candle, the warmth of blankets and snowy mornings, the golden frames of renaissance paintings, the curtains dancing with the wind from an open window, and the, oh, so admirable moon and her stars.

I will forever love every movement of the sea and sky. I will forever adore the stars and the mysteries of the universe. For now, simple loving is enough.