LoVE is.

Love is, in itself, perfect. Pure, it speaks for every hope and secret desire of the human heart, and is limited by neither circumstance, gender, race, or class. It can be anything and can mean everything. The idea of love is inherently flawless. But since it is embraced by people, who are anything but without fault, Love is rendered imperfect. it is people who corrupt love. they hope to be saved by it, to be found by it, to have it give their lives meaning, but they end up doing nothing but living with only a meager fraction of what love could be. they content themselves with this corrupted version of love, learn to hide its flaws, learn to make up for its shortcomings, learn to live with such an unsatisfying version in order not to be jaded and found wanting from this lack of love. It is something that everyone thinks they need in their lives, so they give in, give up, and learn to deal. But the secret yearnings of their hearts scream that this degraded love is not what it ought to be, what love should be, and what it ultimately should feel like. They push beneath their skin the dissatisfaction, the distaste, and fool themselves that this is exactly what they have been searching for in life. Since no one can tell you what love feels like, they convince themselves that what they feel is love and that the person they feel it for is the ONE. And for those who refuse to give in to this sort of love? They are the great dreamers, shunned for their perceived pessimism, but steadfast to the clean and untainted idea of love. they content themselves with that ideal, let themselves imagine its greatness until their breath gives underneath the pressure of their lungs. it is their hearts that skip beats, whose butterflies never leave them, who know exactly what love feels like and have no doubts or reservations that what they feel is true.