What is Love?

“What is love?” She asks herself aloud. She lies in bed, staring at the ceiling. She doesn’t want to be doing this, but she’s stuck. She’s stuck on the same question as everyone else. So confused as to why this question makes her stop and think. “Why can’t I just understand?” She now rolls over and the words are slightly muffled by the pillow that is now covering half of her mouth. “Is there really an answer at all? Or are there are a million answers?” She thinks, only in her head this time. She’s always just felt numb about the topic. Sure, she dwells on it, but it doesn’t really make her feel. It only makes her curious. She believes that the thought of it shouldn’t make her feel, because she doesn’t understand what it’s supposed to feel like. If you don’t know how to feel about it, then how are you supposed to feel at all when it comes to the subject of love. She’d rather ignore it’s existent. Pretend it isn’t even real, but how can she? When every movie, song, and book is about this thing called “love.” So she just thinks about it. Always asking the same question. “What is love?”