Love,
love in its truest form,
it isn't exciting,
it doesn't make my heart pace,
it doesn't appear on a certain date.

Love is a shared experience,
a harmonic connection,
a sentiment unseen,
a song unsung,
a dream without destination.

Love isn't for the faint of heart,
it isn't a childhood condition,
it doesn't arrive bound in ribbon,
and sometimes,
it is my decision.

Love is a house built slowly,
the architect unknown,
the resident unwitting,
it is imperceptible,
a seed sown in the heart.

Love isn't clean,
it can't be borrowed,
it cannot cure the human condition,
it cannot be stored away,
for the reconciliation of sunlight.

Love is a dull ache in the middle of your chest,
love is laughter,
love accompanies a smile,
love amplifies the presence of fear,
multiplication of loneliness on moonlit nights.

Love is found in the stitches of heart and mind,
love holds your hand as they separate,
clear and decisive cuts across the fabric,
lacking the strength of nonexistent twine.

Love is letting go,
love is found in tears,
love is a brother to courage,
love is held near,
grasping at straws as you let go,
whatever it is that made you whole.