Life and the Unfulfilled Cup

A man used to make me many cups of tea. It was a small gesture, made large by the simple sincerity of its suggestion — he loved me. Always however, the cup came to me three-quarters full, and always I thought, why? Where is the rest?

If something has the capacity to be filled, it should be just that. Every shortfall is a reminder of absence — of something lacking, of something missing.

So, yes, if life is to be the analogy of the glass, by instinctive necessity it must be full. Fulfilment does not come in half measures, not even three-quarter ones.