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.