What Is Love?

     Love is wishing for things to be,

Knowing such wishes should be held back,

and not being able to hold back.

     Love is trying to touch doubts,

knowing such doubts should be allowed

     to huddle alone.

   Love is crying, alone, and crying,

     together,

And anger, and fear, and faith and joy,

 and not being able to leave anything alone.

     Love is wanting, with a fierceness that

knows no bounds, and doing everything

    too much, and never enough,

and not being able to be reasonable.

     Love is being hurt, and hurting,

out of too much caring,

that life turns on every touch,

and every withdrawal, and feelings

override every ounce of sense you once had.

     Love is proud and humble,

foolish and sublime,

but never moderate nor simple,

making it's own rules,

without the dictates of others,

or even the expectations of oneself.

     And I love you in all those ways,

Joyously, childishly, irrationally,

with anguish, when the source of your pain,

with joy, when the source of your happiness.