What Love Is



It's smiles lighting up dark rooms.

It's holding hands and tight squeezes every so often - a reminder from one to another to let you know that they are there if you need it.

It's cozy feelings and watching tv for hours, legs entangled and everything else still.

It's glances from across the room and a supportive touch on the shoulder.

It's every single first, and every second and third and forever after that.

It's something that changes. Constantly.

It's unlocking a lock to a door you didn't plan on opening for anyone.

It's getting wine drunk on Thanksgiving and falling asleep right after dinner to the sound of each other's quiet breathing.

It's knowing every curve and wrinkle and crease and birthmark - and loving every one.

It's laughter that makes you throw your head back.

It's friendship. It's comfort.

It's something you find and it's something that finds you.

It's something that can bend and twist and stretch.

It's a story. Sometimes it's a chapter, sometimes it's just a prequel to something greater. 

And sometimes that story isn't pretty; sometimes it's just a goddamn mess.

For some, it might be darkened with cheating and betrayal and pain. For some, it's the opposite.

Sometimes it's saying goodbye even when you don't want to. 

It's something that doesn't always last forever; it's something that leaves and doesn't always return.

It's in you to give to whoever embraces it.

Sometimes, love is being alone. Sometimes it's falling in love with yourself.

It's something that doesn't fix you, but sometimes it's love that helps remind you that you can fix yourself.

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