Scribbles

What I call love

It's when someone simply holds your hand so others know who you're with, that I call love.
It's the way a person could wrap their arms around me and tell me they'd never want me to leave.

It's going out for dates and coming home at one in the morning, that I call love.
It's spending hours at home having deep conversation.

It's knowing every square inch of that special person whom you love.
Loving their body, heart, and soul.

It's not love though, if they don't let you know by their actions that you're the only one. It's not love if they makes you feel insecure.

There's no doubt when it's real love.
There's trust. There's honesty. Every time you simply think of that special someone it sends butterflies down to your tummy.

They know how to make you laugh, how to make you smile.
They've seen the darkness of you and learned to accept it.

It's waking up with breakfast in bed.
It's chasing each other till you hold them tight, as you lay a kiss on your lover's forehead.

It's love when you fight, because if they don't well then they just don't care.
When you fight you reach your conclusion with you both accepting your differences again.

It's when they show you a side of themselves you've never seen before.
It's when you grow together.

It's called love when you can look into someone's eyes and know you belong together.
It's growing old together.