What is love?

A nice easy question there then, and not one that is likely to be answered in a couple of trite paragraphs on some no-mark's 'blog. But here's the thing that's been troubling me... you think you know what love is, and you think you're trundling along in love and knowing that life isn't all hearts and flowers, but that's okay because this is real life, not some Brit-flick rom-com. But then something happens... and all of a sudden you start to wonder if what you have is just extreme care and friendship, and a lot of shared history. Does that make it love though? Does any of that make the pulse quicken? Does any of that cause adrenalin to surge through the body? Do you yearn for any of that when it is not there? And does the loss of that leave a gaping hole in the very centre of you, a chasm where your insides used to be?

I thought I was in love with someone.... but what do you know, it turns out I'm not. What triggered this realisation? Well, you don't actually expect me to commit that to writing, do you?

Funny old world, isn't it?