"What is love, anyway?"
"To be frank and fucking honest; no idea."
The ceiling said nothing, it's just there, all white and quite. Him and I always loved the calm and peaceful atmosphere, sometimes involving eyes-closed-shuts agenda to dive deep into the addicting silence. A night like this is what we cherish most, us on his bed saying nothing and listening to each other's breath filling his room.
"Is this love?"
"Does it called love?"
"How do you know when you're in love?"
Silence.
"What we had, was it love?"
"No, not even close."