I wandered what love was. I wandered if love was in the birds that chirped on the first day of spring. I wandered if love was in the way a play grew when it was watered. I wondered if love was in the silhouette of a young girl. but with experience I had learned that love wasn't any of these things. Love wasn't detachment. It wasn't anger. It wasn't boastfulness. Love was comfort in its ultimate form. Love was when you ache for someone to be closer to you, knowing they can't get any closer. Love was when you long to rip yourself open from head to toe, yearning to house the person you love inside of you while they simultaneously do the same, housing you inside of them. Love was wanting to dive deeper into the bottoms, enter all the dwellings, but all the while knowing you've reached all there ever will be.