# Love Is... Love is the way a stone skips across water— brief, gleaming, then gone. Love is the grammar of small mercies, the comma that holds breath between heartbeats. Love is a room with no walls, where we learn to walk without the comfort of corners. Love is the question we never finish asking, the answer we spend a lifetime mishearing. Love is the scar that teaches us we were once open, the wound that proves we lived. Love is the sound of rain on a roof that belonged to someone else, in a life we almost entered. Love is the way you remember someone's hands without touching them again— the ghost of their palm on yours. Love is the language spoken in the space between two breaths, where nothing needs translating. Love is the stone in your chest that learned to sing. Love is leaving. Love is the leaving that comes after.

January 20, 2021 1 min read By Sushanta Paul

Love is a fire that burns without seeing itself;
It is a wound that aches, restless;
It is discontented contentment;
It is pain that unmakes without wounding.

It is ceasing to want what we want;
It is a solitary path between two souls;
It is never settled in settlement;
It is care found only by losing your way.

It is choosing to be imprisoned;
It is to serve the victor, the strong;
It is knowing who destroys us—and calling it loyalty.

But how shall you kindle your favour
In the human heart, that friendship,
When Love itself wars so against it?

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