What is love?

Is it risking your life to taste his 'experimental' dessert and then ending up asking for more?
Is it pretending to get annoyed at his bad jokes, and then later laughing at them when you're alone?

Is it having a zillion fresh answers to her question, 'How am I looking?'
Is it leaving your hair open more often than not, because he'd once 'requested' so?

Is it giving up your favourite butter chicken and fish fry because he happens to be 'animal-friendly'?
Is it going for 'her movie' even though your team has a crucial game in the evening?

Is it watching him peacefully sleep on your chest, breaking into a smile and not being able to stop?
Is it finding your fingers in a familiar fold and then taking that magical walk?

Is it thinking of each other ever so often, missing beyond words or reason?
Is it not speaking a word for hours, and yet having a perfect conversation?

What is love?

What is love after all?

Who is to say.
Who is to know.
Who is to stay.
Who is to go.