Love is the desire to share things with somebody.

The longing to share your thoughts, your pasttimes, your dreams, your hopes, your ambitions, your enthusiasms, your successes with Somebody –

This is love; the irresistible impulse to run off and tell Somebody, to brag to Somebody, to confess to Somebody, to laugh with Somebody, or to cry on Somebody’s shoulder.

This is love – the painful realization that you are missing half the joy of a beautiful sunset because He or She is not there to enjoy it with you –
that the most delectable dinner is flat and flavorless, unless He or She is sitting across the table.

This is love – the inexplicable urge to reveal your secret thoughts to Somebody, to discuss the news in the morning paper with Somebody, to read to Somebody that fascinating passage you came across last night.

There isn’t much excitement or inspiration in anything – planting a garden, painting a picture, building a house, making a new discovery, dreaming a dream, working out a new philosophy, or putting salt on the tail of a brilliant idea, unless there is somewhere a bright particular He or She to thrill with you, to rejoice with you, and to share with you the profits or the plaudits.

There isn’t much triumph or satisfaction in winning a fight, a game, a battle, or a job; there is little achievement or accomplishment, unless there is Somebody to share it with, Somebody rooting for you, Somebody to say “I love you.”

This is love – the power to enjoy things, to endure things, to work for things, and to sacrifice things together, to dream the same dreams, to hope the same hopes, and to find the same answer to the great mysteries of life.

This is love – the desire to share things with Somebody.