I could tell you my stories of "love",
How they all ended up to be tales of woe,
But who am I to understand love
When I am so woefully inexperienced?

In my years of people-watching,
An art in which I am skilled,
And my years of movies, tv shows, and books,
My rather imaginative mind has fit together
An image of my definition of love.

Love is that first feeling of butterflies
When you see him for the very first time.
It's how that feeling stays there whenever you see him.
It's the blood rushing to your face when you talk to him,
The rapid beating of your heart.
It's your first kiss,
And all your kisses after,
That send tingles through your nerves
And linger on your lips afterwards.
It's when he meets your parents,
The nervousness and anxiety you feel.
The first fight, and how you make up afterwards.
It's the fights that follow,
But still you stay together.
It's the feeling you get when you're standing next to him at the altar,
How no one else present is important,
And it's only you and him.
It's that moment when you hold your newborn
And he's looking down at you with tears in his eyes.
It's the sickening sensation at your child's high school graduation,
And you know soon it'll be just you and him,
Like it used to be,
But you're not ready for it.
Love is how ever when the passion fades,
Your love still steadily burns.
Love is the end of your life,
And looking back,
Through all the fights and the heartbreaks,
Through everything he may have done,
Or you may have done,
You wouldn't have had it any other way.