Love, he thinks, is the way his mother lulls him to sleep with the soft siren-songs of faraway angels. It is the warm, colorful glow of his mother's Force signature, a feeling he cannot name but has been present since birth.
It is the way his mother sneaks treats for him in the folds of her dress, even when she's not supposed to. It is the way he brushes the coarse knots out of her hair at the end of a long day, gentle and sweet as he tells her about his day.
Love, he thinks, is the way his heart beats in time with the low humming of his machines, the way he feels his racer as though it were part of himself. It is the way he knows exactly what to do, which way to steer, all without a second thought.
It is the way he dreams of being simultaneously everywhere and nowhere, his dreams of planets with more green than he ever knew existed. It is the way he feels everything, so strong and running so deep that sometimes he feels as though he may burst from the pain of it all.
Love, he thinks, is the angel that has come to his dusty, dirty world just to bless it with her smile. It is the way she laughs with him, so gentle and kind and unlike anything he'd ever known in the harsh, unloving world of Tatooine
It is the way she treats him as an equal, even though he is nothing but a slave boy and she is a queen who walks among the worst parts of the galaxy without fear or disdain. It is the way she smiles just for him, a smile that promises him that this is not the end for them, that they will someday meet again, and she will remember their friendship.
Love, he thinks, is the bond he finds with his new master- more like a brother than the father figure he is meant to be. It is the way freedom feels, like sunshine on his face after so long in darkness, the feeling of walking on soft, green grass for the first time in his life.
It is the kinship he finds among those like him, the knowledge that he is not alone in feeling the gentle thrumming of the universe all around him. It is the way he feels the Force flow through him, stronger than ever and more powerful than he ever dreamed possible.
Love, he thinks, is Padmé, how she still smiles just for him, like she is holding a secret he is hoping, dreaming, dying to keep. It is the way he is willing to throw away everything he has ever known, for just the chance to call her his and to be called hers.
It is the way he wants to shout his love for her from the tallest rooftops on Coruscant, promise her the whole galaxy, anything to let the whole world know that he is Padmé Amidala's husband, a far better title than Defender of the Republic, or the Hero With No Fear. It is the way she holds him, strokes his hair as he tells her his darkest secrets, his deepest fears, with no reservation that she might grow to hate him like everyone else has.
Love, he thinks, is the way he provides family for his padawan, a girl who has known nothing but the distant, unfeeling halls of the Jedi temple, but like him feels so strongly, empathizes as if she has no other choice. It is the way they laugh together not despite the war but because of it, as they hold each other up through their darkest times.
It is the way she believes him when he promises his help, with hope in her eyes that makes her look every bit as young as she is, and not the tired soldier they have made her. It is the way he knows exactly how she feels, the pressure and temptation to leave the Jedi, to be selfish in his love for Padmé and leave the Republic to its fate alone.
Love, he thinks, is his unborn child, so helpless and so in danger before they even enter this world, and him helpless to stop it. It is the way he so desires to make a better galaxy for them, to rule with his wife at his side and give his child the stars themselves.
It is the way his soul feels it is being ripped in half knowing that Padmé, the light of his world, has died with their child, never to even take breath. It is the pain of every step, every breath, his punishment for creating a world without Padmé Amidala.
Love, he knows, is looking upon his son with his own eyes for the first time, and thinking that he is every bit the angel his mother was. It is the promise that he won't be left behind, a promise come far too late but it means the world to him nonetheless.
It is finally finding peace, in rolling fields and waterfalls that remind him so much of Naboo. It is being whole again, no metal parts and mechanical lungs, but flesh and blood that is no longer in pain.
Love, he knows, is being welcomed with open arms by his wife and mother, still loved by them just as both of them had always promised. It is holding Padmé again, the feeling of her hands and her skin and her hair, so familiar as if they'd never been apart, as if he hadn't spent years seeing her only in his dreams.
It is embracing his mother for the first time in decades, now with no fear of losing her, no worry or pain, just peace with the two people who loved him unconditionally while asking for nothing in return. It is rest, peace, true happiness for perhaps the first time in his life, and he knows he has never felt something so sweet.