Sometimes, I wonder what love is like.

Is it like the joy a five-year-old experiences when he catches a whiff of the heady scent of chocolate in the air?

Is it the delight the twelve-year-old feels when she sees her collection of favorite Pokemon cards?

Is it the coy smile of a fifteen-year-old damsel, the sly wink of the guy sitting across from her?

Is it in the whispered conversations, the slew of chits they passed within the confines of classroom conduct?

Is it the exhilaration nineteen-year-olds feel as the wind rushes through their hair and they zoom past on a vehicle they have only just got?

Is it the euphoria that several indulge in—that thing called independence?

Is it that declaration of attraction, that confidence of youth?

Is it like the pride an artist in the making takes in her paintings?

Is it a need—a need to be needed?

Or is it just a narcissist staring into a mirror?