The clock ticked on the wall. It was too late for her to be awake on a school night, when she had no work due tomorrow. She had finished it.
The prompt when given to me, at first made no sense.
Her sister snored softly in the corner, where her bed was, and she sighed, rolling over. Her lips burned, where his met her own. Her neck tingles where his tongue swirled around her pulse point, and his scent still lingered on her pajamas.
The question didn't have a clear answer. I had no thesis to write a proper essay, because it wouldn't flow like it was supposed to. What is love?
She padded down the stairs, footsteps echoing into the quiet house, street lights filtering in through the windows, reflecting off the surfaces, and illuminated the room just enough so that she could see. Her tummy twisted with butterflies, fighting the urge to go downstairs, and wake him up, and ask him what the hell that was.
I stared at the blank paper for ages, trying to figure out exactly how to put it into words, before I realized that it wasn't asking for a definition. It was asking for my definition.
Just enough light for her to see the picture of her parents on the wall. Just enough light to see the picture of herself, Laurie, and Eric covered in flour, and giggling.
Love is feeling the swell in the pit of your stomach when your mother calls you one of those pet names. Love is when your father's hard exterior softens just for his family. Love is when your brother's sarcasm doesn't apply to you because it doesn't have to.
She swung the kitchen door open, the driveway dark, the leaves on the trees now gone. The Vista Cruiser and the Toyota sat cold in the driveway. A plate of brownies lay cold on the counter, and her pink fingernails brushed against the island stool.
Love is when someone that doesn't have to accept you, takes you in with open arms. When you feel tears brim hot at your eyes in concern. When you tell somebody to drive safe. Love is when you ask somebody to call you when they're home safe.
The basement door was open, and she grabbed milk gingerly from the refrigerator, placing it on the counter beside the stove. Ignoring that urge.
Love is when you call somebody first. Love is when your priorities are put on hold. Love is patience, and waiting for someone to get better. It is not always romantic. It is sometimes platonic. It's familiar, and comfortable, but nerve wracking all at the same time.
She thought back to the hours prior. Steven calling her beautiful. Steven's hands on her hips, leaving bruises, because he couldn't stop himself, because he had to have her right in that moment.
Love is intoxicating. Love is the truth, even when it's probably best to lie. Love is vulnerable, giving yourself to someone, when you know they could rip you apart. Love is watching a show you hate, because theylike it.
Love is eating eggs burnt because you want tosee a smile on your sister's face, because you haven't seen it in so long, and you wish you could see it one more time. Why not over the meal she made special for you? Even if it was the worst thing you had tasted in your life.
Donna's conversation with her in the bathroom ran through her mind. Her nagging her about her crush on Steven, and biting her lip. Maybe Donna was right.
Love is your best friend making you self aware. Love is not allowing someone to sit in the pit because it's easy. Love is spewing those difficult truths, because in the end, it will be easier. Love is calling your friend out on something. Love is wanting nothing but for your best friend to be happy.
Her lips still tingled, and she sighed, ignoring the feeling behind her eyes.
Loveand hatred walk a thin line.I've hated people I thought I loved. And I love people I once thought I hated. Somewhere in the middle fall all the broken promises that maybe weren't meant for me after all.
Love is religion. Love is going to church on Sunday, even if you don't believe, because your mother asked you to. Love is Christmas, the smallest presents bringing the most joy. Love is simplicity. Love is not money. Love is not material.
She listens to the quiet settle in the walls of the house, who's structure was old, but every day she came home and it felt brand new.
Love is listening to Led Zepplin , even though you requested to listen to ABBA. Love is protection. Love is home. Love is the fireplace crackling on New Years, and cheering. Love is joyful glances, soft touches, and lingering gazes.
Love is not organized. Love is messy and out of sorts.
Love is fun. Love is hard. Love is easy.
Love is keeping your best friend's secret.
Love is wanting someone's arms at 3:29 am, when the darkness becomes too much, and you need something real.
Love is both magical, and not magic at all, at the same time.
She coughed, pouring the warm milk into a glass, and sipping, wrapping her manicured hands around the cup, taking a deep breath, and settling into her seat.
Love is a warm bed. Love is rough. Love is recovery. Love is rehab. Love is intangible, and physical both at the same time. Love is eye contact, brushing knees, and soft kisses. Love is passionate.
Love is drunk.
Love is sober.
Love is high at one am, when you cannot sleep.
She watched the wind whip the tree branches around, seated quietly at the kitchen table, breaths slow, milk steaming in the mug. She pursed her lips, eyes glazing over as she lost herself in thought.
Love is cuddling on a ratty old basement couch.Love is sex, but sex is not love. Love is wild, like hair in the morning, but tame like after you brush it. Love is no make up, and unbrushed teeth, and them telling you that you look beautiful, and it being the truth, because they love you anyhow.
Love is pregnant, and love is flat bellied. Love is cancer, and love is health. Love is heartbreaking, and heart swelling both at the same time.
Love is getting to pick out a Christmas tree with your siblings.
Love is your mother baking you brownies because you are sad.
Love is crying tears of joy, and sometimestears of sadness. Love is gingerly wrapping your arms around somebody, and bear hugs. Love is kisses on the cheek.
Love is being called a midget, or a lumberjack. Love is being called sis. Love is being called sweetie, or kitten, or your mother's sweet baby girl. Love is being called Doll first thing in the morning. Love is car rides in silence. Love is looking through photos from childhood.
Love is singing Aerosmith with your brother at the top of your lungs, because it was the only band you could agree to listen to on the way to school. Love is listening to people tell each other they love them, and sitting in silence. Love is both holding on, and letting go. Love is whispers and exclamations.
Movement made her drop her milk glass, and freezing when she saw Steven in the fridge. "Hi." She squeaked, and he furrowed a brow. "You okay, doll?"
Love is drunken confessions and sober encounters.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm good." She nodded. "How are you?"
Love is drunken truths.
"My head kills." He mumbled. "I don't even remember coming home." Her heart dropped.
Love is sober lies. Love is watching the hour glass. Sand slipping by, and never being able to count how many grains of sand make up an hour. Fleeting time, and aching gazes. Pulses racing.
"You don't remember anything?" She murmured, fighting the tears that brimmed at her eyes. He shook his head.
Love is swallowing your pride.
Love is emotional.
Love is real.
Red hot faces, racing hands. Teeth clashing together due to the passion that doesn't get told during normal hours.
She bit her lip. "Should I?" He asked, cocking his head to the side.
Love is pulling away in a moment of weakness, even though all your senses tell you to stay.
Love is chests pressed against one another. Sleeping together, but not having sex.
Love is forehead kisses.
Love is hugs reserved only for you because the person giving them despises affection.
Love is committing.
Love is fleeting.
Love is blind.
Tears blurred her vision, and she swallowed thickly.
I had hoped you would remember my love. But you did not.
"No, nothing significant happened." She squeaked, and he wiped the pad of his thumb across her face.
Love is drying your eyes.
He placed a kiss on her forehead, taking his water downstairs with him.
Love is gentle.
"Goodnight, Doll."
Love is secret gentle conversations in the middle of the night. Guided only by the fridge light, sipping on warm milk. Eyes meeting each other, unmasked.
She let the tears fall onto the kitchen table.
You asked what love was.
Truth be told there is no by-the-book defenition.
I still don't know what it means.
But in my book, it's when your friends poke fun at you.
It's when Michael jokes about sex, but Steven slugs him in the arm. It's when Fez helps you with a fashion disaster. Laurie making eggs, Mom baking cookies, and Dad teaching me how to fix the Toyota. It's Laurie helping with homework. Donna calling you a midget.
Love is Eric playing the roll of protective older brother, and taking you to the dentist when my mother can not. Love is Donna sitting with you in the bathroom, teasing you about your latest crush. Love is Steven sitting drunk in the passenger's seat, telling you that you drive like an old woman.
Love is Jason giggling like a school girl because you can't throw a football properly.
Love is Thanksgiving, and Christmas, and Easter.
Love is barbecues. Love is decorating the tree.
Love is sending your kid to school. Love is bandaging scraped knees. Love is bundling up your child in the snow.
It's flour fights in the kitchen at 1pm.
It's whispers in the basement at 4am.
It's silent drives at 7am.
Skipping class to play pretend.
Playful banters.
Love is everything, and everywhere, and yet nothing at all. And yet some would argue that it's a pyramid scheme.
But I don't mind either way.
I am so full of it, that it branches out to people, who maybe don't love me back.
But i never cared.
My parents received unrequited love.
I just loved, and loved, and loved.
So next time you ask the question, I beg you not to.
Because some definitions are different than others.
My love is found in family, a Vista Cruiser, a basement, and in sunglasses.
My love is found in purple walls, a sliding glass door, and a cement stair well.
My love is found in dark circles under your eyes, smile lines, and lipstick smudges.
My love is found in face masks, noogies, and basketball.
My love is found in cherry lip gloss, reefer madness, paranoia, and painted toes.
My love is found in Gay Rights Movements, forming your own opinion, and Suspicion of the Man.
My love is found in Racial Equality.
My love is found near and far.
My love is found in
Where do you find yours?
She padded up to bed.
She didn't sleep that night.