Love Isn't The Answer To A Question.

Do you love me?
She asked,
expectantly.
I paused.
How do I answer the question?
I think about love.
I know that it isn’t something I can see.
I know that it isn’t something I can smell.
I know that it isn’t something I can put in a pocket.
I know that it isn’t something I can put in a gift box.
It isn’t able to be measured.
It isn’t able to be coerced.
I suppose I know what it isn’t.
But, do I know what it is?
I love being with you,
I answered confidently.
I love the way you smell.
I love the way you think of ways to help me.
I love the way you laugh
and cry.
I miss you when you aren’t here.
I prefer your company to the rest of the world.
I want you to be happy.
I want to help to fulfill your needs.
I want to give you everything I have.
I want to be with you forever.

I suppose that if these feelings
last a lifetime,
I could then answer the question.
Let’s spend that lifetime together.
When I am dying,
I don’t think you will need an answer.

May we begin?