Love. Love is so much. Love can be that hug you get at just the right moment. Love can be the song she showed you. Love can be the first time you two had *** on the bathroom floor. Love can be an object.

Love is the sound of a pen writing and typewriter clicks. Love is the sound of keypad clicks because you know that means they're typing something just for you. Love is playlist after playlist. Love is the sound of knitting needles going back and forth and back and forth because she's knitting the scarf for you. Love is the sound of the perfume/cologne bottle spritzing. Love is the sound of pottery. Love is the sound of comforting words. Love is the sound of confessions late at night. Love is the sound of hang-up buttons and cars starting up. Love is.

Love is the feeling of the universe and stars moving to my brain stem and *******. Love is the feeling of you kissing my lips and moving slowly until you're at my collarbone. Love is the feeling of you moving my fingers to match yours. The feeling of poetry being written about me. The feeling of the zoo and butterflies, and even the robin outside moving around in my stomach because that's how you make me feel. Love is.

Love is the sight of you in the red dress that I bought you for our one month anniversary. Love is the sight of the paragraphs when I wake up. Love is the sight of seeing your wrist clean for a year. Love is the sight of waking up and realizing it's our one year anniversary. Love is the sight of nakedness. Love is the sight of you smiling. Love is the sight of our first date and delicious looking food.

Love is the smell of ha long bay and ginger tea. The smell of perfume on your girly days and the cologne on your not so girly days. Love is the smell of our house, along with bath and body works. Love is the smell of your hugs and your chapstick. Love is the smell of fresh vinyl and flower bouquets. Love is the smell of marshmallows and a crackling fire. Love is the smell of **** on my favorite sweatshirt. I love the smell of your sweatshirt and that's perfect.

Love is the taste of ha long bay. Love is the taste of her lips and chapstick against me. Love is the taste of wine and blood. Love is the taste of well, love. Not much to say for taste is there? Love is you.