What Is Love ?

love is every morning when i wake up thinking i am next to him and i feel profoundly safe. 
love is every kiss i put on him and i feel i am close to life - to earth. 
love is every time i land in his arms and i feel i am home. 
love is every day i go to work and i wish to see him when i finish. love is every meal that i have and reminds me whether he has eaten or not. 
love is when i get angry and sad - and i feel i will not talk to him but then i end up touching him slowly in tears and in pain. 
love is when i can't stop telling him how my day was. 
love is when i wear something and wish him to tell me i look good. 
love is when i hope he would call me and tell me he misses me. 
love is each time he smiles at me and i get loads of butterflies in my stomach. 
love is every love story which reminds me of ours. 
love is any breaking point when i loose myself, i feel weak and lonely. 
love is any boiling point when i feel extremely heated up wanting to be with him in every possible way i can. 
love is what i feel for his friends and family - pure and honest; whether i like them or not. Yet how they have become part of my life.
love is how we don't agree and even when we disagree we remain partners- in wellness and in sickness, in harmony and in chaos. 
love is what makes me cry and laugh to think and not to think. 
love is when i love him and he loves me. 
love is beyond signs on a piece of paper or approval from elders. 
love is everything that makes me feel, sense, to understand, not to understand, numbly dumb, dominantly stupid; loudly active, prominently sad;love is when We Love, in goodness and in badness.

“The letter had been crumpled up and tossed onto the grate. It had burned all around the edges, so the names at the top and bottom had gone up in smoke. But there was enough of the bold black scrawl to reveal that it had indeed been a love letter. And as Hannah read the singed and half-destroyed parchment, she was forced to turn away to hide the trembling of her hand.

—should warn you that this letter will not be eloquent. However, it will be sincere, especially in light of the fact that you will never read it. I have felt these words like a weight in my chest, until I find myself amazed that a heart can go on beating under such a burden.

I love you. I love you desperately, violently, tenderly, completely. I want you in ways that I know you would find shocking. My love, you don't belong with a man like me. In the past I've done things you wouldn't approve of, and I've done them ten times over. I have led a life of immoderate sin. As it turns out, I'm just as immoderate in love. Worse, in fact.

I want to kiss every soft place of you, make you blush and faint, pleasure you until you weep, and dry every tear with my lips. If you only knew how I crave the taste of you. I want to take you in my hands and mouth and feast on you. I want to drink wine and honey from you.

I want you under me. On your back.I want to talk with you forever. I want to remember every word you've ever said to me.


If only I could visit you as a foreigner goes into a new country, learn the language of you, wander past all borders into every private and secret place, I would stay forever. I would become a citizen of you.

You would say it's too soon to feel this way. You would ask how I could be so certain. But some things can't be measured by time. Ask me an hour from now. Ask me a month from now. A year, ten years, a lifetime. The way I love you will outlast every calendar, clock, and every toll of every bell that will ever be cast. If only you—

And there it stopped.”

― Lisa Kleypas, A Wallflower Christmas