What is love?

Does it really mean anything?

I say that I love my mother,

The same way I would love a brother,

Or a good book.

Love is happiness.
It's a smile;
it's the butterflies that fill your stomach
and the blush that tips your ears.

Love is a dream.
The one where I hold your hand and look into your eyes,

You pull me close and brush my lips.

Love is just a word.

And an overused one at that.

We say "I love you" as a thanks or a plea

Even as a thoughtless good bye.

Love is life,

We search of it,

And hide from it,

Fight for it, cry for it.

Watch it fly away or

Hold it ever so close.

A/N: I wrote and published this on a whim because I seem to be in a thoughtful, poetic mood.