We received an assignment from Mrs. Amelkin this morning asking us for a statement on “The Meaning of Love.” It presumably is our duty to comply with such a request, and it is certainly our pleasure.

Surely Mrs. Amelkin knows what love is. It is what wives say to their husbands. It is the epitomizing feeling of butterflies in one’s stomach. It is the blush on one’s cheek and the giddiness in one’s laugh; it is the ear-to-ear smile on a face. Love is the recurrent topic of naive teenagers who believe that every relationship they have must be integrated with some sort of passion or romance. It is the endless supply of chocolates, the reason for a dozen roses on Valentine’s Day, and the precious ring on a newly-wed’s finger symbolizing eternal bliss and happiness. Love is the high one gets when kissed for the first time. Love is the cause of tears, pain, and confusion in a young girl’s heart. It is a fairytale idea to hopeful girls and boys, a dream that many hope will one day come true. It’s the fruit to the loop, the peanut butter to the jelly, the arrow to the heart. Love is a mystery to youth, in the middle of the night in the middle of a dream, wanting to know what love truly is.