What is it to love? They asked.

Why is it that so sad a being awaits for its love?

To fulfill its desires, to hold its hand through happiness and sad

To provide, cherish and care immensely.

Is it love or the affection, or the understatement of the heart?

The overbearing fights to nonsensical commotion end with kisses;

passionate cotion to which many rather be deprived of but engage in petty activities.

What is it to love a single being?

A man with his faults or a woman with her doubts.

Is it different?

One who waits for her husband to return to his love or the one who waits for himself to return to his love.

The blissful embrace, the silly talks, watching the stars from the hilltop

holding hands as the waves crashes the shore, sharing secrets deeper than the foam.

What is it to love driving young minds insane?

Embedding felony when lost, anguished when hurt.

Desires so lowly of a body, crippling the hearts with decorated lies.

For some the foundation is strong through thick and thin they make it to the end

But those who cursed stumble and all deep down in the dark.

What is it to love?

For some sharp minds, it is a chemical reaction

What is it to love?

To give strength for impossibilities to happen beyond interest.