what is love?

A question humanity has puzzled over

for centuries, 

a question I

have stayed up until dawn many nights,

pen, poised upon a page

and still, nothing.

If asked, I would have said

I have been in love

three times.

But was it love?

My first boyfriend abused me,

and yet, bought me roses and diamonds,

I wept over him for a year,

now, I can't stand to look at him.

My best friend had palms of lace,

and she would hold my hand,

even though I felt ashamed.

We kissed on the park bench, once,

I ran my fingers through her silky strands

and thought

this is love.

But for her, it wasn't enough,

and she killed herself two months later.

My last boyfriend had eyes of stars,

and hands that seemed to understand

everything.

He played the fiddle while I swayed,

we were a one night stand that remained

long past it's due date,

he said I was perfect, and still,

asked me to change,

so I ran away.

And sitting here, so far from home and so alone,

I wonder, was it love?

Or is it just some token of hope.

Now, a new person has entered my life,

and we're not even at the stage 

where it is socially acceptable to say 

we like each other,

let alone love.

But he gives me butterflies no amount of writing 

could describe,

and he makes me laugh on days I find

a smile impossible.

And if it comes down to it,

I want to know 

what I'm saying

when I utter those three words

that prove the tongue can move mountains.

For me, love is like air

we breathe it, we need it,

and yet, there is no proof

of it even there.

Love is spending the night with someone

knowing you might snore, wake up the next morning

a disgruntled image of yourself

and still want to share that moment

with no one else.

Love is when you don't want to hold

anyone's hand

because your fingers only fit

in theirs.

Love is being able to scream, to cry,

to hate, to fight, and know

they won't walk out.

Love is jumping off a plane

knowing you could get smashed into the ground,

but trusting your parachute is going to work

this time.

Love is when someone can say your name,

and tell you everything in that single call.

Love brings us all to our knees,

and gives us wings to soar.

Love is not material,

not physical,

not verbal.

Love cannot be grasped, be kept, be hoarded,

it is not meant to keep, but to give,

and hope your gift will be requited.

And me, I'm still learning what love is,

but even more, I'm learning not to give up,

because the very question 

what is love?

implies that it is.

And that is enough.

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