There's something about not having something, about anticipating getting it, that's even better than actually getting (or for that matter, having) it. It's delicate, though. The deliciousness of anticipation is so fragile, so vulnerable: it so easily can become craving in the absence of what is anticipated, or disappointment in its arrival, and passing.

For me, though, I'm inhabiting a delicious anticipation, at least today.

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