What is love?

What is love? An infatuation? A chemical fixation brainwashing your reason centres, coursing through your blood in hormone units, legions of little traitors infecting every cell and pore till you sweat desire, sweat passion and furious demand, need for another? Perhaps.

What is love? A wondrous thing perhaps? Transcendent like one of Plato’s forms, perfect and complete, even pure, perhaps. They’d have you believe, lovers that is, those that love…that love is beautiful. Soul-saving, sanctifying and salacious in its wonder. In it’s wonderousness.

What is love? Cold snow, crisp beneath feet and a sunrise drifting through trees, sky-rise hues of pink and red shattered against a pastel white cloud. A feeling of contentment, harmony, the knowledge of skin and flesh and soul joined in your arms, fingers lacing and pulse tingling in rhythm together perhaps? Standing beside a dear friend, lover or a father, a mother maybe….sister daughter son, dearest ones. What is love but shared moments perhaps? Memories of harmony.

What is love? What is it, can it be defined? The feelings one has for a friend, our staunchest defender and ally through years of turbulence and joy remains the person we met and have come to know, do they not differ for the most intimate relationship of a lover? Flesh against flesh in a melding of skin and soul. These are both love…no? So different, so powerful yet. You’d die for them. You’d suffer for them. You’d burn in a thousand hells for a thousand years amidst a thousand tortures for them and at the end sacrifice a final pleasure, a final reprieve…all for them. So different these feelings, so separate…so similarly strong, both love…different loves and If these things are love and yet so different can one truly define love? Can one say categorically this IS love and deny the rest? Perhaps.

What is love but the most undefinable feeling of kinship, whatever that may be?

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