I’m not sure why people try so hard to put a definition on love. As humans I guess we feel the need to be able to describe everything, but everything can be described in so many different ways.
I wonder sometimes if I choose to have a child if they’ll ask me, “Mom, how do you know when you’re in love?” I’m not sure how to answer something like that. There’s so many different kinds of love to me.
The way you love your family.
The way you love your friends.
The way you love the strangers that have shown you kindness.
The kind of love you feel when something clicks with someone you see walking down the street.
The kind of love that you go through hell for.
The sort of love that makes you think you could spend your life with them.
Whose to say which one is the real kind of love. I guess when I think about, I fall in love all the time.
With characters in books I read or shows I watch. Strangers who speak inspiring or intriguing thoughts in class. Animals that need comfort. People who have been wronged.
I’ve never felt right about love. What love is for me? You can be an open relationship because sex doesn’t mean love always. Or you can be in an exclusive relationship because some believe love is complete faithfulness and sacrifice.
To me, nothing is right and nothing is wrong.
I don’t know how I feel about being in love, but falling in love I guess is nice.