My heart is a vessel.  This vessel is cracked.  No matter how it is filled, spilling over with love, leaving puddles on the table, streaming to the floor, puppies scurrying to lap at the warm fragrant pools streaming from my heart, but alas, when it’s through spilling over, it continues to spill out and always ends up empty, and I stand on top of that table, screaming loud, screaming, “fill me!” as I engage once again, that familiar ache.