What is love?
My mom says love means care. It’s about loving someone who loves you even more than you love them, someone who stays, who protects, who puts your happiness first.
My uncle once told me that love is the kind of connection you can’t shake off, no matter how hard you try. It’s a state of mind. You can lose it, work on it, or bring it back, but it’s always there. He says love is when you can look at someone and see every possibility — the good and the bad, the dark days and the beautiful ones — and still choose them anyway. He says love is when you can see them in their messiest, most unfiltered moments, and still thinks they're beautiful. He says love is when you can imagine every version of forever with that person. And you still look forward to it. You still want to be there through it all. To him, love is staying; love is imperfection and endurance.
A friend once told me that love isn’t a feeling. It’s an action.
I think love is all of that — and maybe more. It changes depending on who you ask. To my mom, it’s care. To my uncle, it’s loyalty. To my friend, it’s effort.
When I loved someone, it didn’t happen fast. It was so quiet, slow, like water shaping stone. I always thought I was hard to love. But I also learned that love doesn’t end when someone is gone. It stays, in the air, in memory, in silence, in the everyday moments. I think love is what makes loss hurt. But it’s also what keeps the lost alive.
Some people say love is a choice. Some say it’s a feeling. Others say it’s faith, believing in something you can’t see. To me, love is all of it, and also the spaces, the breath between hearts. It’s the small things no one sees. It’s the act of giving without knowing if it will be returned. It’s the warmth that lives on when words have fallen quiet.
It isn’t clean or perfect. It’s messy and fragile. It’s saying “stay” even when you’re scared. It’s forgiving someone who never asked. It’s knowing they could break your heart, and still opening the door. Love is scary, but it’s the kind of pain you’d choose again.
I also learned love isn’t only about others. Sometimes, it’s about learning to love yourself enough to keep going. It doesn’t mean you stop hurting. It just means you keep breathing, even when it aches. That, too, is love — the quiet kind.
I think that love is everything that stays. The people, the moments, the feelings, all the things that make us who we are.
But I also think that love isn’t something we find once and keep. Maybe it’s something we learn, lose, and relearn again.