It is within our own selfishness that we regret the passing of our ailing elders who have been welcomed into the restful eternity of imperishable silence… as we do not choose the time that our souls retreat from our motionless bodies, our time is chosen for us.
We try to define love so we can understand it… We paint it in black and white so we can describe it, make sense of it, or… see it for what it truly is.
Truth is… Love is knowing your partner’s weakness, but never using it against them. Love is doing absolutely nothing with them, but still being indescribably content. Love is when your favourite parts of them are all their little mannerisms, quirks and little things they do that make you head over heels for them.
Love is trying to be mad at them, but uncontrollably laughing with them instead because deep down you know everything is better with them right beside you, holding your hand; and honestly, the thing you were fighting about in the first place wasn’t even that big of a deal anyways.