what is (was) love?
"Is this love?", you ask as I make us eggs. "No." is my reply as I kiss your face. "This is love.", you think when I come get you under heavy rain. But, once again, no. "Now, this must be love", you say as you see my name on your phone from across the world. No. What I thought was love was choosing to stay after you showed me your indifference. So, then, what is love if not being there? Love was just the lie I used to believe. A lie with your face, your eyes and your hands; one that lasted years filled with bitter tears.