Author's Note: Just a random drabble of thoughts that needed to get out of my system.

What is love?

The question plagues me as I sit, leaning out the window over my backyard, reaching for the limbs of the sycamore tree that I've nearly been living in for fourteen years of my life. I sigh and jump out onto a branch, screaming when I nearly slip and fall to my death.

I know my mom won't mind me being up here, she's off getting ready for her date with her new beau.

I swing my legs over the branch I'm sitting on as I hug the tree and look off into the sunset.

He's always looking at me. Smiling at me. Laughing with me. It's the little things that make me so happy that we're best friends.

But then she always glares at me. Always talks about me behind my back because she thinks I'm in the way. Always laughing at me. It's the little things about her that make me wish she wasn't dating my best friend.

But life moves on.


The sun begins to slip behind the mountains like a sleeping body beneath a silk blanket. I sigh and let the tears fall from my eyes.

Being with him is like forever and I could relive it over and over and being away from him is pure affliction. I could stumble on in the dark for hours and not care where I'm going because I don't have him.

These last few weeks I have been doing a lot of thinking. I think that love can't be described, even though I've memorized the dictionary definition; a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person. After spending hours of pacing my bedroom floor and researching, I've come to believe that love You can never put your finger on it, even though half the time, it seems like a tangible thing.

It can feel wonderful and enlightening and beautiful, like the glow I feel sitting in front of the sun and it can feel hurtful, painful like a poison spreading throughout the inner reaches of your soul. It can drive you insane, and it can be the one things that keeps you thinking straight. It can make you open up and it can make you close.

So love, I suppose, just is. We can't possibly try to tame it into something that can be made sense of becuase we spend half our time trying to make sure we can find love.

I breathe in, taking in the realization that I love him. I know I do. From the way my heart spasms when he talks to me, and from the way a glance from him can light up my day.

If only there was a cure for love. I don't think there is. But its frustrating! You can never stop it from taking over you completely, filling every fiber of your body with an intense amorous fire that fogs your mind and keeps it from thanking of anything or anyone but the person you love. It's like peanut butter, having a spoonful can fill you and make it impossible to swallow, so you lose control and before you can control it, you act as if the world has ended and telling him/her is a must.

He's all that I need, but loving him has made it impossible to be around him and contain my emotions.

A light breeze blows, caressing my cheek in the way I wish he would. I lean against the sycamore trunk, the single tear I let out earlier sinking into the ages old bark. I feel ancient, like the dull pain has transformed me into something I never wanted to be. I didn't ask to love him, but for some reason, I do.

I let my head fall onto my shoulder as I ponder what I'm going to do with my broken self.

"Kylah! The pizza's here!" My mother screams from the kitchen door.

I climb down from my perch, wiping my face on my sleeve.

Love is never ending. Love just is.

But even that can't sum it all up.

A/N: That was crap, I know, worst thing I've ever written but I would still appreciate it if you would review!