What is Love?

In Bed The Kiss by Henri De Toulouse-Lautrec, 1892

What is Love??

What is love? Is it the hope of finding a tiny bit of yourself in someone, that knowledge that allows you to feel justified in your mistakes because not only does she care but she still accepts you?

Is it those long nights spent over the phone whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears oblivious to the speed at which time is racing away, defying the need to sleep regardless of the fact that we have work in the morning?

Is it the very first skip of your heartbeat, that second you lock eyes? Frozen in time, not sure whether to feel incredibly vulnerable because she sees right through into your soul, or to feel supremely confident because she noticed you.

Is it the bittersweet pleasure of a kaleidoscope of butterflies in your stomach that first time your lips brush? or the electricity of that accidental touch?

Is it the salt in each tear drop the first time she asks you why you don’t treat her like you used to?

Or the proverbial tear of her heart, the first time she notices a hidden text on your phone?

Is it that first date, the sharing of long held secrets, feeling that although you do not know this person, you feel safe enough to give her a part of yourself?

Is it that fear? That deep pang in your stomach, thinking if she ever finds out about this she will rip your head apart, or worse cry into your chest as you hold her begging for her forgiveness.

Is it the very first time you hold hands, the smile that threatens to turn her mouth into one that is reminiscent of the jokers?

Or that moment that she nestles her head onto your shoulder in the freezing cold, sure that no matter how unreasonable it is she will find some warmth in her closeness to you?

Or is it knowing that living at home with my parents is not an issue or that every time I kiss you I still get a tingle down my spine that leaves me almost paralysed?

Or is it the arguments? The shouting, the cursing?

You mustering up all your energy to hurt me; yet knowing that no matter how hard you hit, my male pride would ensure I don’t flinch

Looking you in the eye my gaze fixed.

Is it that almost inaudible gasp as I enter you? our differences aside as we connect in a moment of ecstasy that renders words useless?

Or Is it knowing that you don’t need proof of my potential? That somehow although you’ve only known me for so long, you see things in me that I’ve failed to see my whole life?

Is it knowing that wherever l roam, or whoever I see, in whichever club I end up with my friends, you don’t need to worry because you are secure in the knowledge that I only have eyes for you?

Is it listening to Erykah Badu and the roots as we lie in bed? My fingers twirling your hair, you remaining calm although you’ve told me a thousand times to leave your hair alone?

Is it telling each other secrets that no one else in the world knows, personal jokes and laughs in a room full of people.

Is it knowing that no matter how long I don’t see you the moment I do we pick up right where we left off perfectly in sync?

Is it the hundred times you’ve turned provider ignoring the age old stereotype that as a woman you should be provided for?

See I don’t really know much about love or all the things it entails, I’m imperfect at best but I know this one thing for sure, as long as you’re my teacher, love is a lesson I will never get bored of.