The trouble with love is that its undefinable.
It’s a completely subjective and wholly interpretive construct.
One that is unique to each of its hosts and situations.
Like snowflakes, unable to be replicated or renewed.
The trouble with love is that it cannot truly be externalized.
It attempts to manifest itself through words and tangibles.
It makes you think that it needs to be seen or heard in order to be believed.
But it is transparent, like looking through hot summer air.
Its waves trickle off of the warm asphalt.
Wavering and playing tricks on your eyes for mere seconds.
Making you believe that something extra is there.
Making you believe that it needs to be externalized–but it doesn’t.
Because it was there all along.