more. like how you felt learning bernini. how your eyes danced around every spire on the tallest cathedrals in france, black and white pictures did that to you. how you marveled at the grace of her marble hands as they turned into tree limbs, how david stood ready waiting to hurl his slingshot at goliath. you ate every word of hemingway, you felt that sun while they thought about doing the unthinkable. more. more than just the feminine. or a meat puppet dragging this body not knowing what to do with it anymore, how to draw a smile on straight lips. more than just a key turning in some lock after the working hours and climbing into bed ready to dream. you thought and thought before letting silent lids shut it all out.