It feels futile, hollow, and strangely, like a fullness that leaves me empty.” These emotions are intimately tied to a kind of attachment — the kind that should neither be possessed, nor held onto, even when already in our grasp. Much like the Buddhist notion of non-possession, the very moment we begin to claim a feeling, a relationship, or even another being as “ours,” we invite a quiet, inevitable form of suffering. Especially with love, we tend to feel entitled to receive it — as if love were a right granted by our existence. But in truth, love is not given because we deserve it. It arrives contingently, like a fleeting accident — an interruption that unsettles our inner equilibrium and awakens us to a sensation we had not known we lacked. Once encountered, this sensation becomes difficult to forget. What was first received passively begins to reorganize our emotional landscape, gradually transforming us into someone who longs for its return. In this way, to receive love is also to become a being who desires love. And that desire, even when fulfilled, leaves behind a kind of hollow fullness — as though the body were fed, but the soul remains aching with hunger. That sensation arises not from a lack of love, but from the deeper condition of being alive. To live is not to be full, but to endure a state that is inherently incomplete — a persistent echo of absence within the experience of presence.