What is Love?
Is it a noun, that we can specifically describe? Or could it be a verb, that needs actions to be justified? Is love hate in workclothes? Or is it that piece of porcelain that was chipped off your broken heart that you still share with the one who shattered it? Could it be that feeling of being cornered to a wall when you’re afraid of a bond savouring? Or is it that tension that builds up in you when that bond appears to be savoured? Is it the fear of losing someone, or the fear of finding that same person who you are scared of losing?
Is it the warm sensation from a smile that you know will never wane? Is it the passion that burns from the eyes, that makes you all mushy inside? Could it be that only sigh that escapes your mouth leaving a smile? Is it that which makes everything else irrelevant, or is it the only relevant thing?