Love—if you asked me to define it, I wouldn’t know where to start. It’s funny, because for most things, I’ve got the words.
Ask me to write an article on the spot, I’d do it. Need a speech in minutes? Consider it done. Public speaking, debates, winning competitions? No problem. I’m the “smart girl" they say, the one people turn to for answers. Except, when it comes to love and math, I’m lost. Totally clueless.
People around me keep asking—Is it really love? What if something happens? What if time changes things? Are you sure this feeling will last? It’s like everyone wants me to doubt what I know so deeply.
But how can you explain love to someone who doesn’t understand the way it fills every quiet space inside you? How can I explain the fear that comes with loving someone more than you’re allowed to?
Loving you feels like crossing an invisible line, and every day I wonder when the world will finally snap back and say, “Enough.”
Love, they say, is simple. But if it were, would it feel like this? Would it be this constant tangle of contradictions and paradoxes that define every moment, every choice?
People talk about love like it’s this effortless, easy thing. But love is work. It’s the silent sacrifices and the compromises that no one sees, the moments you have to choose the other person, even when it feels like the world is pulling you apart.
Love isn’t just a feeling; it’s an act, a decision you make over and over again.
It’s in the everyday, mundane details—the way you know I like my coffee, or the songs I play when I’m sad. It’s the way you notice the smallest shift in my mood without me having to say a word.
But love is also in the grand gestures, the ones that defy logic, like sprinting out of school just to make sure I’m okay, even when you knew the consequences.
Love is when you don’t hesitate, when you follow me out of the gates knowing you won’t be able to come back. It’s that recklessness that people would call foolish, but to me, it’s everything. It’s the way your hand catches mine when I’m walking away, like you’re afraid to lose me, like you can’t bear the thought of me facing the world alone.
In that touch, there’s more said than words could ever capture—there’s care, there’s worry, there’s a stubborn refusal to let go.
And maybe that’s what love really is. It’s not the easy path. It’s not the one that makes the most sense on paper. It’s messy. It’s full of wrong turns and moments where everything feels like it’s falling apart.
But it’s in those moments, when things are hardest, that love reveals itself most clearly. It’s in the way you stayed, even when I told you to go. It’s in the way you refused to let my tears be the last thing you saw before turning back to face your own consequences.
Love is a paradox. It’s both fragile and strong, delicate yet unbreakable. It’s like holding water in your hands—no matter how carefully you cup them, some will always slip through your fingers. But you keep holding on because what remains is worth everything.
Love is understanding that you might lose, but still choosing to stay. It’s knowing that the pain might outweigh the joy, but still diving in headfirst because the possibility of those moments of happiness, however fleeting, makes the risk worth it.
It’s knowing the risks and still chasing after you, consequences be damned, because even just being near you, even if it hurts, is better than never having known you at all. I’d rather feel the sharp sting of longing and the ache of distance than to live in a world where you never mattered to me.
Love is when I’m standing on the edge of despair, and instead of falling, I find you there, waiting. It’s like knowing that no matter how hard life gets, there’s one person in the world who will always reach for you. It’s the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching—the worry, the care, the unspoken words hovering between us like some fragile secret we’re both too afraid to break.
Love is not knowing the future and still making promises that stretch far beyond the present. When I said I’d love you as long as the sun burns, as long as the moon shines, I meant it. And I think about how that sounds—like some hopeless romantic delusion. But isn’t that what love is, in a way? A defiance of reality? It’s the belief that against all odds, something beautiful can still grow, even in the harshest conditions.
You know what love is? It’s like standing in front of a storm, feeling the wind whip against your face, knowing you could get swept away at any moment, and yet, you stay. You stand firm because you’d rather face the storm with them than stand in the calm alone. Love is watching the world around you crumble and still choosing to rebuild, brick by brick, knowing full well it might all fall apart again.
And even when I tried to hate you—when I thought that would be the easiest way to protect myself—I couldn’t. I couldn’t stop loving you.
It’s staying up late, listening to the same song on repeat because it reminds you of them. It’s writing 132 poems, 89 paragraphs, and still feeling like you haven’t said enough, like there’s still more to be written, more to be felt.
Love is the endless attempt to capture something that can never be fully expressed.
It’s how you’d straighten my uniform or fix my socks, little gestures that meant more than words ever could. Even when I ignored you, when I was upset or pretending not to care, you never stopped. Love is in that persistence, in the way you kept trying when everyone else told you to stop, when everyone tried to push you away from me.
Love is when I think about the future, and it’s not just about where I’m going, but where we’re going. It’s when I imagine a world where we don’t have to keep hiding, where we don’t have to keep fighting against the expectations of others. It’s wanting to build something with you, despite knowing how fragile it all feels right now.
And it’s the small tokens of affection—the bracelet you made for me, something so simple, yet filled with so much meaning. You didn’t just make it because I asked; you made it because you wanted a piece of yourself to stay with me, to remind me that I mattered to you.
Love is when you wanted me to meet your family, even when you knew the complications, the hurdles we’d face. It wasn’t about approval or acceptance; it was about letting me in, letting me be a part of your world, no matter how difficult it might be.
You were always so proud of me. More than I ever was of myself. Whenever I won a competition, your happiness outshone mine. It was like my victories were your victories, and that joy was contagious. But at the same time, love is when I saw the fear in your eyes—the fear that one day I’d leave, that I’d outgrow you, that maybe this fragile thing between us would break under the weight of everything we were up against.
And that’s what love is, isn’t it? It’s knowing that one day things might fall apart, that we might not be able to hold onto what we have forever. But still, we hold on, we love fiercely, recklessly. Love is the willingness to get hurt, to take the risk, just for the chance to have those fleeting moments of joy, those glimpses of eternity in a world that never stops moving.
What is love? Love is when you chase someone, not because you’re trying to catch them, but because you don’t want them to feel like they’re alone in the race.
People always say, “If you really love them, you’ll let them go.” But they never talk about how hard it is to actually let go when your whole heart is wrapped up in them. No one tells you about the nights spent wondering if you did the right thing, if walking away really means you’re strong or if it just means you’re scared.
Love isn’t perfect. It’s messy, complicated, and full of contradictions. It’s being strong and fragile at the same time. It’s feeling whole and broken all at once. It’s the way you push me to be better, but also the way you anchor me when I feel like I’m spiraling out of control. It’s laughter, joy, tears, and silence. It’s everything.
And despite all the questions, the doubts, the voices in my head and from everyone around us, I know one thing for certain: I love you. With everything I am. With everything I have.
