Okay, so I read this somewhere.
What is love?
Is it screaming at the top of your voice till your lungs give out or is it sneaking out in the dead of the night to count stars.
Is love alcohol? Burning when it meets the papillae on your tongue, making you forget the difference between right and wrong, it overrides your senses, you can’t see straight, the moon looks bigger and the distances shorter, there is no right or left just me and you, people will tell you that your mind is muddled up, that if only you were sober you would that know what you feel is an illusion, but how can something that feels so good be false.
Is love an ocean? The vastness of which can only be imagined, with depths still left unexplored, holding in it countless lives. It has both, the calamity of the tides and calmness of the breeze; millions have lost themselves in its grasp. People will warn you of its dangers, instruct you on how to protect yourself against them, but when trouble arrives and the only tools you have are anxiety and confusion you will wonder why you never listened when people warned you to not go too close, to not fall too deep.
Or maybe love isn’t that at all, maybe all love is, is –
How he is the yin to your yang, balancing each other like the ends of a seesaw, you are red and he is blue and you both meet to create the perfect purple hue. She takes away your anxiety and makes it her own; you rip away her depression like uprooting weeds from the Garden of Eden. Your demons don’t play well with each other at all, instead they scratch and pull, and they tear each other apart, till there is nothing left of them.
Maybe love is –
The way you beg him to push harder as you moan with pleasure, or how your eyes sparkle when you talk about her, or the blush on your face when his name pops up in a conversation. There is nothing that makes you happier than seeing him smile; it is the feeling of satisfaction you get after you keep the phone down. Her voice is now your favourite song and her lips your favourite desert, because what could be sweeter than the intertwining of tongues.
Maybe love is –
The way you remember her delicate touch, how the spaces between her fingers fit so perfectly against yours, it is the reason you cry at night when he doesn’t call you back, how every ping is a disappointment when you realise that it’s not him. It is the 10pm looking at the stars knowing that both of you are seeing the same sky, it is the 3am thoughts wondering if he is thinking about you too, it is the 2pm realisations that there is no one in the world you would rather be with than her.
Maybe love isn’t complicated metaphors and bad poetry, maybe love isn’t serenity at a mountainside or the breezy chill at the sea. Maybe love is just simple chemical reactions, and their consequences.