I think, as a shitty 24 year old girl, that my definition of love is as follows:
A constant overwhelming desire to be close to something or someone.
Physically. To wake up in the morning and immediately wish your face was by their face. To sit with them and never feel like you’re sitting close enough. To be constantly aware of the distance between the hairs on their arms and the hairs on your arm. To want to be in the theater, in the workplace, in the rehearsal space, in the bar, in the restaurant, in the park, and know that just being there makes you your best self. To hold reminders of them against your skin, on your skin, in your bed, on your door.
Emotionally. To hate the idea that they are keeping something from you. To not have any secrets from them. To be the first person they go to in crisis. To anticipate their feelings and thoughts because you know them so well.
Intellectually. For them to always be on your mind. To desperately want to know any and all knowledge regarding them. To see their names on your phone, your bills, your book covers.
This goes for romantic love, the love you feel for a hobby or a vocation, love of family, love of God, love of an artist. I think, and what do I know, that love is the desire for closeness. I don’t know if I have the capacity to love, but I certainly know this feeling very well.