love, busy ants and intelligent organs…

Looking back at yesterday, I was dissapointed at the turn out; labor. I had taken off the night shift so I could take Jennifer out.

Yet really, shouldn’t our affection be constant, and without pause? The timpani of the heart is like an unstoppable clock, wound up forever.

Work, whatever type you may do seems to find it’s way into diluting our efforts, our affection, our own private truth which on a single day perhaps we allow others to see.

It isn’t a matter of hiding either as we aren’t embarassed of the way our hearts work. We are simply confused at how well it works perhaps. Intelligent organs which make condusive the connection between man and woman, or man and man, or woman and woman, whichever applies to you.

We hide love like thieves, hoarding the presence of someone so precious to us. The world around us becomes nil as the whole world is presented in the single cresting smile of our beloved counterparts.

Ah, perhaps in part I am a hopeless romantic, but these ideas are solid and without flaw in my mind.