And so at this moment, we all try to define what love is and what it isn’t. We claim to have a grasp on things. We give advice to people who solicit, we judge people based on a few incidents, and we move on. And yet at some point when we enter something new, we have a new definition of love all over again.
“Love is the way he holds my hand” or “love is the answer to my letting go of her.” It never has an outright definition, much like how a chair is defined or justice. But why do we constantly search for it still, even if once we attain some sort of “truth” to what it really is, we never really get anywhere? We get somewhere close, but somehow it isn’t enough.
Maybe because words aren’t enough to define what it is and that love is beyond the definition, the finiteness of concepts put together by twenty-six letters. It cannot be held together by mere clinging because at some point it’ll disappear and it’ll fleet like the clouds in the sky as the earth rotates on its axis.
To color love with the words I know at heart is impossible to know, to answer. But it has rendered us speechless at some point and if that phenomenon has people sputtering and busting their brains thinking of how to express it in a sentence or so, at least we know something about it.
That it isn’t finite.
That it continues on for days on end, even if we ourselves will fade from this earth.
Because love, oh, sweet love, will be more than just the words. It had existed even before it came to be known as love.