What's funny about the fact that some of them think they're more real than I am, is that their hunger only quenches the shallowest realms of bodily desire. Their first mistake was the assumption that they could possibly be hungrier than me, that they could possibly even think they know what hunger is.
For my hunger runs deeper than my bones or my blood, it festers in every cell, every neuron in my brain whines for a part of the magic, a part of you. I can see it all from a birds eye view, you know. I know what it's all made of. I can feel the fluctuating textures and kinetic energy of its luster as though I could individually feel each organ piled wet in my stomach. You can't feel your organs can you? Just the one. You think you're hungry, but you don't even know what you're hungry for.
Not me. I've seen its radiance, I've heard its poetry, I've felt both its softness and its hard edges, I've submerged my arms up to the elbows in its hot, red blood. I know what it is that I see, I know what it is that I want, and I need it like I need oxygen to my heart and brain, and that makes me a hungrier dog than you.
So do not try to cut me out from your field you bound in, do not think I belong upon some other hill. We both eat from the same bowl, brother, even if your appetite cannot match mine.
E. Falter 2/2/25