As I spill hearts on my pages, I think of what love is, or could be. I think of the feelings that go through you as this happens. Pain, fear, happiness, and so many more. It toys with you, and makes you do stupid stuff in order to understand the concept behind such an elaborate plan. As does many things, it comes by chance. Some people find it too young to understand, while others find it too old to move. Others decide to lock themselves up and don’t find it. What you chose to do with your love is up to you. Loving others is the hardest thing you can do. There are times when you aren’t there to protect that one you love, from others or themselves. Or you are there, being too protective. But whether they are bossy, over-protective, lovey, or just plain stupid, they can mean the world to you. They can make any sad moment into a bright one. They can make jokes like no one else would understand, while you laugh as hard as you can. There can also be distance that may keep them apart, but if you are patient, distance doesn’t matter. It’s just another reason to never let go when they finally hug one another. Its hard understanding what love is, or could be. Love can be as moldable as clay, it can be whatever you make out of it. But with the good there is bad. Those who go around breaking others’ hearts, they can darken you day, or even take away that love that once flourished in your heart. Some decide to stay alone, afraid that it might happen again. But then there are others, who dare to find it again. Those who do find someone who repairs that broken heart, and lights up they’re darkest days. We might think we know what love is, or could be just because we love our family. But I can tell you it is a feeling like no other. Family will always be by your side, through thick and thin. Though that special someone would do the same, there's always that fear that you might do something wrong, and they leave you alone. That fear may never subside, but it can be hidden with the right kind of love or trust. As I spill hearts on my pages, I think of what love is, or could be. I think of all I have thought of, and how love is limitless. It can’t be controlled, and is something no one will ever understand. Just like love, my simple scribbled hearts on my pages are now elaborate in detail. And I think to myself one last time, love is undefined. And never will be.
© Yuuki_Makoto, 2018. All rights reserved.