Love..

I will decide how I will remember you. I intended you to be a happy memory.

I cannot definitely define what Love is. Most of the time I do not even understand it. I convince myself that I am only here for equity like if you treat me good, I will do the same to you. Or maybe more. Love seems to be so huge like the universe that I cannot even begin to imagine where it begins and where it ends. It is impossibly vague and incomprehensible and I truly hate it when I cannot understand something. But this I know: Love is a beautiful thing.

Sometimes it is Love with the wrong person. Or love at the wrong time. Or it is the wrong kind of love at all. But what makes us think it is "love"? Or that there is love in it? It was love because in the process, or when you are with that person, in that certain moment of time, you were happy. Not just a superficial happiness but really, the kind of happiness that makes you feel that it is just you and that person and nothing else matters and  yet it seems that you are at the center of the universe and the heavens are conspiring to make you the most contented, satisfied and happy person. It seems like for the first time, everything makes sense. For the first time, somebody accepts you for who you are and who you are not, like somebody believes in you and respects you so much, like you feel safe in his arms or you feel extra possessive and protective of that fragile body next to you, and everything around you suddenly become more glorious and light. The stars are beautiful, the sunset is beautiful, the sound and the smell of the rain is beautiful, he/she is beautiful, everything is beautiful.

I don't know if this is love. But I am able to write this right now because well, Love.