love is going to bed late
and waking up early.

love is the sun coming up every day
even though we give it a million reasons not to

and love is forgiving.

love is knowing that you have class in the morning
but you want to spend the night here,
near her,
so that she isn't sleeping alone.

love is vertigo in your chest.

love is knowing that it could never happen and loving her anyway.

love is when she tells you that she is straight and you can't stop looking at her mouth

and love is whole.

love is looking up to him,
and love is pride.

love is pride in yourself and other's pride in you.

love is community

and singing in the sun,
feeling the dirt in your sandals,
the guitar chords resonate in your chest.

love is spring with your best friends.

love is bright and ringing and full.

love is the tattoo on your right arm,
painful,
but the stinging will help your fractured memory
remember the love.

love is real when you can feel the absence of it.

love is real when you remember his aching words of pride
and the cave in your chest echoes.

love is real when she tells you that she slept over at his house last night
so that she didn't have to sleep alone.

love is burning,
and true,
and painfully whole.