what is love?
no, really.

is it liking the same person for months on end
with no hope of freeing your heart?
is it finding beauty in all of their flaws,
warmth in their smile,
and strength in their skeletons?
is it fighting like hell to let them go
when they’ve found somebody else
and you want them to be happy,
but it feels like you’re breaking inside?
is it finally being freed when you least expect it,
those feelings vanishing in the blink of an eye
as you finally let someone else in?
is it seeing them for the first time in forever,
the way they look at you rekindling that **** spark
you thought – maybe even hoped – had been extinguished?
is it being so scared of telling them the truth,
of losing them again,
but this time for good?
is it setting aside that thing they might requite because
being with them,
ignoring the need to reach out and hold them,
ignoring how your heart swells when they smile,
flutters when they meet your eye,
shines when they wrap their arms around you –
all of that is worth so much more than the possibility
that they may never love you back.

is it you, my love?
could you really be my first love?
i have never been here before,
never once wondered if the things i feel
could be more.
why you?
you were never the man of my dreams,
no love of books holding you together at the seams,
no fondness for writing leaving ink when you bleed.
yet every word you speak makes me smile,
every time you mumble,
or slur,
or stumble,
every breath you take only makes me crumble,
falling deeper than i was before.

is it you, my love?
could you really be my first love?
could you ever look past the mistakes i’ve made
and love me back in the same way?