Every desire is a desire in excess of its object. It's not a contingency that you get more - or less, but always other - than what you bargained for, but it is the very condition of the desiring process, which you don't choose but only submit yourself too. If there were a desirer and and a desired then you could consider the degree of fulfillment in a binary fashion, but this initial distinction can never be perfectly realised; it is an imaginary demarcation within an imaginary sphere. Desirer and desired are called forth in the same act and are concomitantly defined by that act. There is only a history of desiring which unfolds along strange pathways and which constitutes a life, the one you happen to be living - or would be living if in fact you ever existed. The notion of truth as a possible object of desire may be born out of a sufficiency of disappointments along this way. If your history of desiring delivers you to a desire for truth, then you are not asking for an augmentation of your being but its destruction, and along paths that you could not have foreseen. Perhaps there is no other meaning to truth than the implosion of scenes of desire, the mutual collapse of subject and object. That a taste for this can arise would seem paradoxical but for the fact that each collapse is also the brief recovery of a nameless fullness that lies behind or upstream of every such scene.