Love, what is it anyway?

What is Love but a mere sense of disillusionment? A time when we find ourselves trapped when that one person comes along and convinces us that they can provide something for us that we alone can not conceive.

What is Love but a single moment in which we are caught with all of our vulnerabilities laid out for the world to see. No, not the world. Just one person. One person who tells us that they are the only one who can put an end to a life of loneliness and solitude.

What is Love but a moment when we, ourselves, identify our flaws and imperfections, and go looking for the missing piece? But like all puzzles, our eyes are prone to mistaking the right piece, for one that after closer inspection, often by a second party, is completely wrong.

What is Love but a time in our lives when we are fooled into believing that we alone are not good enough? A time when we are blinded by the artificial halo hovering above his stolen angelic face. It is only after the halo's glow falters, that we are able to connect the proverbial dots and see for the first time that we were mistaken. Mistaken for a moment of sheer pleasure, a first moment that we are never to have again.

What is Love but a moment where time's fabric hitches and sends us tumbling to a place where there is no up or down, no right or wrong; only him. A place where people seldom stay, but are often expelled.

What is Love but a complex trick of the brain when we need to prove that life can, in fact, get worse.