There is a point in the life of every sentient living thing when desire becomes an object. Desire, in itself, is a feeling, an impulse that pervades the spirit. But desire is more than a just simple want; it is alive! Desire eats at its owner, taunts him, dancing just out of his reach. And the object of that desire, that thing, becomes much more than an item to be held or caressed: it becomes a part of the owner. A lost limb. A severed hand. The one who desires becomes a fraction of himself, lost in want, incomplete and inconsolable. An amputated soul wandering in lust. And eventually, lust
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