It is said contentment is the enemy of invention. In many cases I’m sure that’s true. The library of Alexandria housed blueprints for a steam-powered machine, but nobody thought anything of it because there were perfectly capable slaves already in surplus.
Since Tiffany smooshed herself into my life, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. I am most certainly content, but my inventive capacities are anything but stagnant. Her existence compels me to do and make, and I’m not speaking exclusively of sexual euphemisms. She makes me want to paint, to write, to craft, to sing, to dance, to plan.
That’s love, I suppose.