In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “I Want to Know What Love Is.”

“How would you define love? “, I asked him.
He was surprised by my question but he replied anyway:
“Well, I don’t know. A million thoughts are passing through my mind right now, but I can’t seem to find one which could describe it. Why do you want to know? ”
“That’s because there are so many definitions and I want to find the best one. For little kids, love means the affection of their parents. For teenagers, love is a miracle when the other person feels the same way, a land of impossibility discovered by two souls. Still, I can’t say that there is one straight definition for love. I think everyone has another way of defining it and I’m dying to know yours. So.. will you tell me? ”
He looked drenched in thought, like trying to figure out a puzzle, but failing to find the missing pieces. After a long silence, he replied:
“For me, love is the most beautiful and heartbreaking feeling I have ever felt. It can make you become either the happiest person alive or your worst enemy in flesh. ”
His expression revealed everything I needed to know. I could see the pain carved on his face. The heartbreak.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t intend to make you feel bad. Ask a broken-hearted person what love is and this is what you get. ”
His eyes pierced my soul like an arrow… and I guess he would have killed me right there if he could (or if he weren’t so nice all the time) :
“If you’re as smart as you claim to be, then tell me the truth. What’s love for you? I’m sick of this weird twisting game you’re playing, okay? ”
I smiled and stared intently into his eyes:
“Calm down, sweetheart. There’s no need to get mad. For almost everybody, love is a good illusion. We spend most of our lives searching for it outside ourselves, when, in fact, we should search for it within our souls. We fall in love with someone, we want them to feel the same and we fear rejection. When this happens, we suffer. Is this love? Of course not, but we already steriotype it as normal, because everyone does it. In my opinion, love is not possessive. It is a state of consciousness where you feel glorious, at peace with everything, without being dependable on another person. I think that the what all types of love have in common is the word we are most afraid to say while loving: freedom.”
He looked at me in awestruck, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“You really struck a chord. “, he said with a smile forming on his lips.
“I’m not done”
“Then, go on”.
“In fact, defining love is useless. I think for everyone is different and there is no right or wrong definition for it. Words are not enough to describe it and photographs can’t truly capture its beauty. So.. let’s not lie to ourselves by saying that we can define it, because we have tried… and failed for centuries and centuries to do so. In the end, we all know the truth. Artists can get glimpses of it, but they never completely share the same idea of love through their work. In the end, love is undefinable. ”
He moved his head in approval and said to me for the last time:
“I thought that your argumentative text I read a few months ago was the best definition of love, but actually this is. You’re right. ”
“I always am, don’t I?”, I said with a sense of pride in myself.


In her loving memory

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “In Loving Memory.”

“….and she died, without telling him the words she had to say, without being loved in return… but at least she died happy”

Here, rests in peace the girl who always put others’ happiness ahead of hers and the one who touched many souls with her writings and poems. Actually, she’s not here at all, she’s somewhere far, far away. Too far for your mind to get it but all I can tell you is that she is extremely happy.  She traded this world full of pain and sadness for a place where there is always love and harmony. All I know is that she died with peace in her heart and that in those last moments she remembered all the people she had ever loved because they remained lost between the pages of her heart. There is something else that I know for sure about her: despite feeling unwanted, she was deeply loved by everyone. There’s no such thing as too young to die, you have to follow the script. Another thing she told me: “When I’m going never be sad because there’s no point in it. I’ll watch over you from here. Nothing dies. When one page ends, another one opens”. She left a trace behind for people to follow and she didn’t even imagine how many lives she had changed. If she knew all the words left unsaid from the ones she loved, she would have smiled…but she already is smiling… somewhere they call ‘heaven’.

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