Today it's raining, and i can't help but think of how nice it would be to cuddle and watch a movie with my significant other (as if). But what the heck is love anyway? Poets, philosophers, playwrights and pop singers from Socrates to Beyonce have had a great deal to say about love. T'is a red, red rose; it is a battlefield; a drug, a delusion, a lunacy, the sunshine after a rain storm. I'm not certain of love's biology, but it has the tendency of becoming chemically insane, to the point that you can no longer tell if what you feel is really love, or if it's just an illusory need. Being as young as I am, many of my peers believe that love must be displayed in erotic fashions. The mysterious thing about real love is that it does not make you want to rip the beloved's clothes off at inappropriate moments; it is nothing to do with the wild urge to create a universe with only the two of you in it. Instead, it is the kind of profound affection that makes you smile at idiosyncrasies that anyone else would find pointless, or get the joke that nobody else will understand. This kind of love is built of the bricks of a hundred small memories and moments in time. The deep steady love that gets you through rainy days and financial crises and the small quotidian tasks that make up a life. This is why couples who have been together for 50 years always talk about marrying their best friend. Maybe it's not for me to understand just yet.
- Sade' Miller
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