What Love Is To Me

I saw a post today from Humans of New York, and it was a man discussing what love means to him. And as I am lying in my bed for the last time tonight, I can't help but feel a bit sentimental. All of these goodbyes have made me realize more about the nature of love, and all the forms it comes in. This might be a sappy, futile attempt, but I wanted to try my hand at explaining what love is to me. Here is what I came up with;

Love to me is full, and beautiful, and endless. Love is what drives me, and fuels me, and my favorite gift to give to those around me. The more I look for it, the more often I find it. Sometimes tucked quietly away in little places, or so loud and boisterous that you feel it in your chest, in your soul. I feel it singing in the car with my sister, or laying in my trunk watching the stars. I find it when I hug my parents, and when my dog looks at me sleepily from the edge of my bed. I find it in moments of silence. It is in strangers, it is in the people we see everyday, and the people thousands of miles away, carrying a little bit of us in their hearts. Love is in every corner, in the laughs of those close to us, and the goodbyes we say to each other. It is in the car with us on every night drive home, with your music loud and the feeling of being alive and free and blissful. We find it on the airplane, watching our homes disappear beneath us, thinking of who we are leaving behind. Love is gentle, and patient, and kind. Love is empathy. And today, it was my sister's voice over the phone. We talked about leaving, and she told me "But think about it this way, Lil. We are so lucky to have people who make it so hard to say goodbye to." And I felt it right then; this is what love is to me.