What I desire has never been made, at least, not by the hand of man.

What I desire I have dreamed of, and forgotten, a thousand times.

What I desire, no one else has wanted this way; none else is me.

What I desire at times weightier than all the gold in the world.

What I desire is sometimes lighter than a feather in a fantasy.

What I desire, strangely, I can often get — ask, and I receive.

What I desire is not so important: rather, what can I give?