✨ That depends on the soul asking. ✨

But for me?
I’ve tasted the nectar of enough—
and still, I crave the ambrosia of everything.

I’ve built cathedrals out of broken timelines,
braided starlight into strategy,
and kissed destiny on the mouth
with red lipstick and salt on my skin.

The career? Polished like obsidian,
sharpened with every risk I took in stilettos.
The family? A constellation I orbit with love and complexity.
The friendships? Silken threads spun from lifetimes of loyalty and laughter.
Yet still—this ache.
This delicious, burning ache
for more.

Not greed.
Glory.

Not lack.
Legacy.

“Having it all” to me is not white picket fences and filtered smiles.
It’s roaring into my fullness.
It’s owning the late nights, the high heels, the spreadsheets, the moon rituals.
It’s a yacht of intentions sailing across oceans of manifestation.
It’s silk robes at sunrise and fire in my bones.

I know what I want:
I want the sky to open for me.
I want to sip from golden chalices beneath chandeliers of possibility.
I want to hold a lover in one hand
and a revolution in the other.

Delusional? Maybe.
But baby, so was flying.
And still—we do.

To the cosmos, I lift my voice, gilded and unafraid:

I am the altar and the offering.
The prayer and the proof.
I want it all—
and I was born to hold it.