What is love, I used to wonder.

Love is crying
Without a knowledge of the world
and being patted on the back
and falling asleep;
Love is falling asleep
in a bus,
in a train,
in a car,
and waking up and remembering your mother,
Love is the knowledge that no one can take that memory away,
Whether the world that you know something of today,
has taken her away or not.

Love is a smile on his face,
When you finally learn not to fall and pedal on without his push,
Love is when you finally discover, and then beam and tell him, “I did it, Dad!”
Love is that smile on his face as he says, “Yes, you did it, my son!”
Oh, love is that smile.

Love is that hand-made card that you spent hours on making but she didn’t look at once after a smile and same-to-you,
Love is the imagination that she must have felt happy that you did all that for her,
Love is the courage to be able to give it to her,
Love is being bullied but holding on to what you think is love,
Love is that sudden pang of growing up.

Love is turning up,
for the one thing that matters,
no matter what;
Love is forgetting that the world exists,
Love is learning to not care for the one you loved but who never cared back,
Love is thinking that all that does not matter,
Love is the energy in re-building than forgetting,
Love is showing up for what you now think that matters,
and never getting bored.

Love is freshening up every day after work and supervising your homework,
Love is the energy that he gets although tired,
Love is the will to see you better off than himself,
Love is the acknowledgement of your growing up,
and lamenting to his wife that your childhood is slipping away from them,
that they will never get to be a part of that again;
Love is those memories that he had painstakingly recorded,
Love is spreading the albums and touching the photographs as if that time will come back,
Love is reminiscence,
Love is the teardrop that is confused as to whether happiness or sadness caused it to be formed,
Love is the togetherness that they feel about you.

Love is that whiff of air that you felt
When she walked into the classroom every time,
Love is not being able to tell her,
Love is the abject resentment of being friended because hey, nothing could be worse;
Love is the will to look at that strip of hair on her neck for one more second,
Love is looking away because hey, she should never feel awkward;
Love is the pain during the holidays,
Love is the phone that you could finally lay your hands on,
Love is noting down her ten digits,
Love is the knowledge that you can call her,
Love is being called for a doubt she had,
Love is the heaps and bounds of hints that you dropped without noticing,
Love is that smile she smiled every time she did but looked away,
Love is the laugh she laughed when you could not hold back anymore,
Love is being called a fool,
Love is the joy that erupts when you cannot believe your ears.

Love is getting up;
Love is their rush to her fall,
Love is getting up guided by two able hands,
Supported on two shoulders,
That of the father and the son;
Love is the fear of getting old,
but being told that he is also growing old with her;
Love is being told that he is with them as they age.

Love is company;
Love is company without knowledge of identity,
Love is knowing that you are in it together,
Love is finding common ground,
Love is the realization that differences are overrated,
Love is the shoulder-to-shoulder,
Love is having each other’s back,
Love is the comfort of being together,
Love is seeing it through;
Love is seeing that face years after,
Love is the feeling that time hasn’t passed,
Love is laughter.

Love is the first kiss
When she is apprehensive,
Love is shedding the nervousness and losing all other senses,
Love is not letting go,
Love is losing breath,
Love is the tightness with which she holds you,
Love is the promise that you will hold on,
Love is the tears that trickle down your cheeks from her eyes as she holds you in her bust,
Love is letting go of fears,

Love is the darkness
When you close your eyes, miles away, yet see her;
Love is the knowledge that she is here, right here,
Love is the imagination of sleeping together,
Love is the hope.

Today, I think I know what love is.
But I never want to stop knowing.

9 thoughts on “Love

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