Then, something old...

Love is

Do you love me?
---Yes, of course I do.
And then I think about it
and ask myself what love really is.
And then I’m not sure.

Love is a golden puppy, with velvet ears and a rough tongue to lick me awake each morning, and sleep on the foot of my bed at night.

Love is my mother’s arms, except that I can’t remember quite what they felt like, and she can’t hold me anymore.

Love is summertime, out-of-school, hot sunshine, the sandy-salt taste of the ocean, the jangling song of the ice cream truck coming down the street, and licking the sticky-sweet coldness of chocolate ice cream off my fingers.

Love is watching the snow tumble into the black waters of the bay and racing outside to hold hands with my best friend and make ourselves into snow angels.

Love is a first kiss, then a second, and then a few more after that. It’s holding hands and walking in the rain. It’s the first night staying out past ten, wearing my first pair of heels and a velvet dress to dance in a gymnasium under paper stars.

Love is wearing your sweater around the house, and sometimes to class, just to show it off. It’s long talks on the phone and sharing our dreams and hopes and plans.

Love is your voice whispering my name as your fingers brush my cheek. It’s feeling your arms around me and hoping that you’ll never let go.

Love is the familiar scent of roses, and the piney tang of your cologne on my pillow. It’s the sticky sweet of Valentine’s Day chocolate and a collection of red paper hearts. It’s counting every minute when we’re apart and the smile I can’t hold back when I see you again for the first time.

Love is hot and cold. It’s understanding and forgiving and holding and remembering. It’s knowing when to be patient—and when not to be. It’s seeing in your eyes that you know all this, too, and love me anyway.

Do I love you?
Yes, today, while I know what love is…
but ask me again tomorrow, just to make sure.