is scarcity the root to my longing?

From a very young age, I've always found myself infatuated with a hoard of people, things, and experiences. Each being unique to itself. Devotion and fondness run deep in me; they give me a sense of belonging.

But, even though my vehemence towards these notions are so strong, I find myself stuck in a constant loop of subconsciously dispersing my feelings as soon as the notion is attained. It goes from "necessity" to "superfluity." I innately tend to devalue what I have in my hand. Specifically relationships, whether platonic or romantic. It almost feels as though the beauty lies only in the chase. The before. The scarcity. The moment someone or something is within reach, the shimmer dulls. My longing is always sharpest when it is unfulfilled, when it exists only in the realm of possibility. Once it becomes reality, it collapses under the weight of familiarity. It’s not about them whatsoever. It’s about me and the way scarcity keeps tricking my brain into caring.

And so I wonder if I am addicted not to love, or even to people, but to the ache of wanting itself. Scarcity has woven itself into my emotional fabric, convincing me that what is rare is what is valuable, and what is mine is already lessened. It is a paradox I carry with me: I crave closeness, yet I crave it most when it is just out of reach.

The part that unsettles me is how this spills into people. I miss them when they’re gone, but deep down I know that if they came back, the cycle would repeat. It makes me question whether I’m seeking connection or just chasing the high of scarcity itself. Perhaps I don’t actually want the real thing; maybe I just want to want it.

Does this make me a bad person or just human? This question is so impossible to answer because I find myself being able to defend either side. Something so subjective can't be viewed through the lens of a false guard of morality.