Love is a fickle

Love is a fickle thing. Love is something that everyone searches for, but no one knows what it looks like or where to find it. No one knows what shape Love is or what color it comes in. Love cannot be bought at a store, but can be given as a gift. Love has been written about, sung about, drawn, sculpted, made movies about and wars fought over; but no one can appropriately describe what it feels like. Love is intangible, but humans relate to it with physical contact. Love is something that tantalizes anyone’s five senses, but not one sense alone can distinguish Love. No single person can tell when they are in Love, although all of their friends can see it written all over his or her face.

Love to me runs close with passion. When I kiss her I feel as if I am going to melt all over her wonderful body. I have stretched my neck further and cramped my back on the worlds’ most uncomfortable couch just to lay with her. I have broken speeding laws, ran stop signs and red lights to see her just five or ten minutes sooner. I have hurdled over furniture and knocked people down just to catch my phone in time to speak with her. I have stood in 35 degree weather, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, waiting for her to arrive. I have gone without sleep for three days, just so she would not have to leave my side for a few nights. I feel I am lost when I am not with her and incoherently dazed with constant bombardment of sights and sound of her when she is around. Thoughts of her looking into my eyes as I get lost in hers; I never grow tired of staring at her, taking all of her beauty in. Thoughts of us holding each other, thoughts of us kissing, thoughts of us making love by candle light.