Love is the disembodied feeling of being aesthetically involved in the splendour of one’s circumstances.
Love is laziness. Love is late afternoon coffee and pyjamas and not typing at the speed of a running brook. Love is being able to be there for one another, in a way which allows for sweet sublimity and nuanced overtures. Love is not hurrying. Love is acceptance.
Love is sunshine on one’s shoulders, the feeling that all is well with the world, and God’s in his heaven, and all that sappy shit. Love is unapologetic sappiness in a not-so-corny world. Love is thawing at the edges when the world is telling you to harden up.
Love is popcorn and the movies. Love is all about larger-than-life stuff. Breaking the norms, transcending the stereotypes, and going beyond the shallow peripheries of existence. Love is daring to be different.
Love is bliss. Love is warm puppies running around and cozy hand-holding and shackling up of two souls in a way which creates dissonance of existing realities. It’s magic in a cruel world.
Love is poetry, but in free verse. Love is broken sentences, and softly-lit living rooms, insouciant piles of books, reminiscences reminisced directly into the camera. Love is not rhyming of words. Love is structure breaking down and desire flowing through streamlined surfaces, forming cracks and crevices where none existed.
Love is moonlight dancing on the water. Love is crisp territorial angst and longing for the inchoate, the mystery and the duality in uni-dimensionality. Love is dancing to the tune in one’s head, and realizing it is better than your favourite song playing on loop on the radio.
Love is lavender fields and kisses at midnight and grand gestures on grand days. Love is ruthless aching and a longing more severe than words can do justice to. Love is perpetual aches in the heart and soul and mind, joints be damned!
Love is a myth. Love is reality. Love is distance. Love is closeness. Love is an oxymoron, a noun and a verb. Love is everything, and yet, nothing.