love is a series of unfinished poems I wrote for you; a sad attempt at trying to comprehend how much I love you.
love is calling you at the end of the day with intentions to hear your voice, but instead, me talking to you the whole time, and just hearing your voice when I said something that needed your response; but I don’t mind. that’s how our messed relationship is, and I love it.
love is never being able to shut up about you. all sorts of things, like about that joke you told me the other day, or about how mad you made me when you mentioned that girl I don’t like, or about how we can never seem to agree on certain things.
love is about seeing the moon at its fullest and automatically thinking about how beautiful you’d think it was. and I’d probably flirt with you and tell you you’re more beautiful than that; you wouldn’t think so, but I do.
love is about having issues and disagreements; because despite the fact that people think issues, fights and disagreements are bad, I think that it’s what makes us and our relationship stronger. it makes me realize how much I would be willing to lose, if it meant not losing you.
love is leaving little love letters in the pockets of the jackets you lend me. you seemed to get sad more often, but like they say, it’s the little things that matter. and that’s exactly what love is.
love is holding each other when we fall apart. life is tough, and though they say that we are tougher, sometimes we can’t be, and so on days you’re falling apart, I will be tough for both of us.
love is coloring outside the lines. it’s knowing that neither of us can ever be a perfect picture, but it’ll still be a masterpiece even with its flaws. coloring outside the lines is being okay with the fact that we will make many mistakes, but I will love you nevertheless.
love is recognizing who we are and who we aren’t. we both wish to be different people, and I think we both forget that we love each other the way we are. I do not love you because you are perfect, I love you because you are you.
love is protecting each other. you always lectured me when I told you a minor was driving, and I would always take it as you trying to be cute with me, but I realize now, that you never want me to get hurt. and though sometimes, love is an accident waiting to happen, I wouldn’t mind getting hurt, if it meant being able to love you.
love is never being able to say goodnight. you and I, we never get the chance to say goodnight cause we’re too tired, and we fall asleep while we’re still texting. and though others would hate that, I don’t. I like being the last thought on your mind before you drift off. love is not wanting the conversations to ever end.
love is a choice. a choice we make every day. a choice to greet you good morning, and a choice to keep you in my life. you are my choice. and I choose to love you until love doesn’t have to be a choice anymore. I choose you today, and tomorrow, and as long as I can keep choosing you. it will always be you.
love is you. and yes, I’ve decided to end this one with the expected and probably stereotypical “love is you” kind of thing, but hear me out on this one; love is you, because I couldn’t write this, without thinking of you the whole time. you are the definition of love to me. and may I never be able to fully justify that in a way that everyone would understand, I know that you do, and that’s the only thing that matters.