What is love anyway?

How are we meant to know?

We are passers by, engaging in our own ideal of love

His love is not your love, is not her love

What do I think?

I think love is special,

That love is something to be cherished, for it can vanish


I think love is looking in someone else's eyes and seeing your happiness

Holding them when they're melancholy,

And laughing with them over silly TV, or a piece of art


It's not all consuming, all knowing

It makes mistakes, gives us hell

It confuses us to what's real

But I know its there.

I feel it beneath my skin,

See it in the eyes of people walking by

In a jubilant mother with her child

A couple, talking on a park bench

Two girls, embracing while one cries


Love isn't lost. Not yet.


The End

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