What's in a cup?

The heart cannot feast on the love it does not meet, so it turns to what it knows, to the familiar abode. Every heart has a default setting, a place it once called home, and to this home it shall return. Some hearts find comfort in the freedom of a hard run on tarred and winding roads, amd yet another in drugs, sex and rock n roll, and a third in the healthy confines of a safe and loving family home. Who knows where you were when at first you experienced love? We cannot choose whether we are born in Winter or in Spring, and we do not all believe in God, but we all experience life, and to some it is pleasurable and to others it means pain. He whose heart was born in Spring sees life in everything. He whose heart was born in Winter sees the end of everything. What joy for some, what doom for yet another? It is pure torture to belong to a group of darkened hearts whose bitterness drenches through every open pore, and for the hearts born in Spring life...

I heard the click in my heart, only your switch did not move. You took a chance on me, then left me in the dark until I needed to ask.  You pressed the buttons that read: Reject. So I went back to my heart's switch.  Click. Reset.      

What do I mean? What do I mean to someone? What is meant to be will be. What I mean is, you were mean to me. I mean, I am someone too, someone who could have meant something to you. I have searched for meaning and found that meaning something to someone counts more than assigning meaning to work or things in life. It means so much to me to be treated right, like I count. You meant to tell me that you found the meaning of your life. I meant to tell you, I am looking for the love of my life. Isn't that meant to be the meaning of life?