What is love?

Yesterday someone asked me a question.

A question I’ve answered a hundred times before.

On other days I would have smiled,

given long explanations,

spoken about butterflies and heartbeats,

about poetry and promises and forever.

But yesterday—

when they asked,

“What is love?”

I went blank.

My mind, once so full of beautiful definitions,

suddenly felt empty.

All the careful words I had saved,

all the big thoughts and clever meanings,

slipped quietly away.

It was as if my heart knew the answer

but my mouth had forgotten how to say it.

They asked again,

“What is love?”

And without thinking,

without searching for anything complicated,

I answered,

“Home.”

Home is love.

Love is the place where you can breathe

without explaining yourself.

It is the space where your laughter is welcome

and your silence is understood.

Love is not always loud.

It does not always arrive with fireworks.

Sometimes it is just a light left on for you.

A seat saved.

Love is the feeling of being chosen

even on your worst days.

It is someone staying

when leaving would be easier.

It is safety in the middle of a storm.

It is not about perfect words

or perfect moments.

It is about presence.

About comfort.

About belonging.

Yesterday I forgot every long explanation

I had ever prepared.

But maybe that was the answer all along.

Love is not something you explain.

It is something you feel

when you walk through the door

and realize

you are home.