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.