What is love?
Is it lust? Is it passion?
Is it admiration? Is it understanding?
Is it an amalgam? Or is it pure?
Is it something simple, or is it something more?
I have felt the passion of a deep, burning love, quick to flare and yet quick to burn out.
I have felt the creeping burn of a love built up over years, slow to start and with a slow, painful death.
I have had my love embraced, I have had it spurned.
I have hidden it away, and I have worn it on my sleeve.
In the end, I do not know what love is.
Whenever I think I do, it changes; it is a fickle, tricksy thing.
The only thing you can truly, ever say you know about love is...
For, despite it being an ephemeral thing, something no man can comprehend...
We know it immediately when it touches our soul.