Just awareness.

Thoughts too deep to be fathomed on the surface.
Such as "woman" which alludes mere objective reality.
It employs the heart, which gives only desirous and love thoughts, which even more so alludes singularity, but rather a memory of 10,000 women's pictures are categorized by the brain.
This in itself is taxing for any outer organization.
It is done by the brain by simply pulling out the latest woman on my mind.
The mind an old house of files and recordings which can't all be accessed, and when I write that the master of the house says "but here" and shows me a random memory.
Proving only that a random record can be accessed.

Why must love start to be forbidden by age differences, work settings, and lifestyle differences?
Doesn't love have any sense?
Her eyes are inviting and her body is youthful and vital.
A ripe peach.
The heart is so material, more than the brain.
The brain reasons, gives levels, and categorizes.
The heart simply loves.
It is sheer feeling.
The deepest seat of imagination.
Can she "feel my heart beating" in my wish that she was happy, that my love could be expressed?
Does she "feel the same, or am I only dreaming?"
The heart has such lasting imaginations.
They consume the attention and won't allow it to wander away.
The heart laughs because the eyes are mere spectators of the heart.
The heart says "I am reality".
It's more immune to observations, it is harder to change its interests.

My heart must cling to another heart every night, and my body sometimes adulterizes the heart I hold so dear.
I'm never alone in the imagination of the heart.

True love feels the same whether it is shared or not.
It makes the blood pump a little harder, and blush with joy.
The difference is its materialization.
Once love materializes the desire is met with responsibility.
The truest heart is the one that has consummated the least love.