What is love?

​Love, it is a difficult word to describe. It is kind yet cruel, simple yet misleading it means warmth but constantly bourdons. My personal view on love happens to be a bit more cynical than others. Love is not bad, everyone needs it, wants it, longs for it but when have it abuse it, cripple it slowly, deteriorating its meaning until it becomes something completely different. It is a very tricky feeling, constantly confused with other feelings producing sometimes harsh outcomes.

​For example my parents, they married young, had kids, bought a house and ultimately built a life together simply based on this idea of love. They lived well for a couple years until one day they woke up in a bed side by side with someone they used to know, someone they can only regard to as nothing more than a stranger. They’ve spent years together in this perfect little life with nothing more than a faint bitter feeling of an unfulfilled life.

​Personally I could not say I have felt love itself due the simple fact that I have not lived long enough to love. My view on love is at times twisted, different than any other feeling because of its rarity. In my life the only people that I can say have truly loved are my grandparents. Together for sixty years plus up until and after my grandfather’s death they have loved. They fought constantly, yelling at each other until they day he died and even a bit after. But through it all they never gave up, they held onto that love they had and for me was something so beautiful that to this day have never seen done again.

​I’ve only come to witness the love of others and only then seen this occurrence once. Love is the only feeling that can be so wildly interpreted by others and constantly holds a new meaning. This is a word that constantly astonishes me, a word that I will most likely never fully understand and frankly does not scare me because it is always changing meaning. This is a word that when asked, everyone has their own unique definition.