Lust, in it’s most carnal form, is desire. It is coveting something that is currently not in your possession, for lust seeks to devour and possess all that is the object of obsession. When a person lusts, the sentiment consumes all of who they are, and they make rash decisions because they can see no others but their beloved. In actuality, lust has nothing to do with the object, but only the objectifier. We seek to make sense of our lust by placing the onus on the object because it takes the weight off of us, but they may feel only apathy for us. In truth, we revel in our feelings of lust because we build it ourselves. We induce our own pain and suffering in the name of ‘love’ because we feel as if we are the jilted lover, but love is something different altogether.
Love is when you want to live with someone, but lust is when you can’t live without them. We like to confuse the two to make ourselves feel better, but lust is a different animal that wants to possess wholly, whereas love is when you set someone free because that is what is best for them. The truth is we like making ourselves feel sick with lust because it feels better than nothing at all. We like the intensity and drama it brings into our lives and how it makes us feel. It gives us a purpose and we read fate into it because we want to. Love is great, but there is no other feeling like lust, for lust is really just unrequited love. And a lover in agony is always the best sort of protagonist.