Something I wrote more than thirty years ago:
Love is like a beautiful spring day, filling your entire being with a quiet, peaceful feeling of joy and contentment. Love can be like the fleeting excitement of fireworks exploding in brilliant colors against a darkened sky or the tingling, breathtaking shock of plunging headfirst into the cold water of a sparkling blue lake on a hot August day.
Love is not selfishly expecting another person to change something in his personality just to be the way you feel he should be. Love is not wanting someone who will stay with you twenty-four hours a day, catering to your every whim and need. Love is not holding back the one you love from reaching his full potential simply because you are afraid he will outgrow the relationship you share.
Love is a mother standing watch over her sleeping child who is slowly recovering from an illness. Love is knowing you have found the one special person whom you want to share all your hopes and dreams for the rest of your life. Love is watching a small four year old boy, followed by his even smaller puppy, running through a green grassy field festively adorned with yellow and white daisies. Love is a combination of many emotions and events, something which has no simple definition, but which touches each life in some way, and which must be experienced to be truly understood.