i don't know anything though.

"What is love?"

Her question prompts singing, but as the tired joke subsides, I hold a breath inside my lungs along with her query.

My hands cover my eyes, like a mask, like the hunters' mud paint in Lord of the Flies. This is how I say anything important, with my gaze drawn away from the glances of others; I stare at the ground, I talk through a phone, I hide my face. Today, I'm just blocking the sun, though. The grass pricks at the back of my neck and I press my tongue to my teeth for several seconds.

The truth is, I have no solid personal concept of conventional love. I think I love her. But that doesn't seem to be the right answer this time. That's probably never the right answer. It wouldn't come across properly anyway. I love her like I love a kitten. That's not what we're talking about. I'm not even sure if that's love. I don't know what that is, but I'm pretty certain that's just not the right thing to say here.

I mumble something about love being defined by one's own experiences and concepts, like it can't be restricted to one, simple definition. For some, love is not simple. I don't know though. I love kittens. That's pretty simple. I guess that's not love love. Like loooove. Is that what we're talking about?

Sex, kissing, holding hands? Are those important parts of love? I mean, I don't see why they should be. I don't think people need to do those things to love someone. And people can do those things without having any love in them. Friends can-- Wait, I'm getting weird again. I keep my mouth shut. I'm cool with losing personal bubbles, it doesn't really make a difference to me. But that's just because it's me, I think. Yah, that's definitely a me thing.

I've told people I loved them. I think I meant it sometimes... But I don't really know what I meant to mean. I doubt our loves ever mean the same exact thing. I love him like ice cream, and her like summer nights, and him like fictional characters, and you like kittens. 

I feel like there are ants on me, so I shift. There aren't ants on me. I'm looking up at the tree branches through the holes I've opened in my mask. The conversation is over, but the question doesn't go away.

I dwell on it further and think of the people I've deceived with my fluctuating definitions of love. Romantic love and platonic love... Everything feels the same to me. I just want to... Yknow, snuggle everyone. Is that okay, too? That's love too. I think so. 

Aw man, I don't even know anymore. This question is hard.

But if love is the sensation and feeling I get on days like these, I guess it's okay.

I dunno.

Hm.