What is it like to love?

Is it the diamond ring?

Is it the ceremony, the vows, the honeymoon?


Is it the child you raise between work and school? Those college nights should’ve been yours, taken.


Is it this apartment? Or the next one? Or maybe it’s the one after that.


Is it the warm meals? Or is it the fast food on spontaneous late nights?

Maybe it’s the pancake dinners. I never thought twice about why you never ate.


Is it the screaming matches that make weapons and shields out of plates and pans and throw pillows? It used to make me cry for hours.


Is it the diamond ring?

Maybe it was passed down so I could learn someday.