Definition doesn't define

In art, the hand can never execute anything higher than the heart can imagine.

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

War, famine, pollution and death are termed the four horsemen of apocalypse. It is famously proclaimed that these phenomenons will all occur simultaneously to destroy human civilization, when its people become devoid of love, respect, and kindness, the very thing that makes a human.

When one first hears this theory, they are rightfully critical of it. Don't war, famine, pollution and death occur even today? The short, probable answer is: they do. However, the humans today, despite being heavily influenced by greed, anger, envy and ego, still display short yet sweet potrayals of the qualities that makes them human. One of such divine gift by god is love.

Poets, writers and artists have all shown love through various devices. Inexplicably beautiful words have been written for the beloved and colourful strokes have constructed their image. Since the beginning to possibly the very end of time, people have loved; whether it be random things, a place, or a person, and humans have made sure to always keep an account of that. Yet, if we try to define this feeling, our words falter at each point.

This calls for a very important question; how have we sustained so long in our lives when we don't know how to define love, the cause of our existence? 

A simple guess or probably a quick walk through a garden even may tell us the answer.

Aristotle thought of humans as social animals. That doesn't mean that an introvert might be an extraterrestial creature, it simply means that humans can't resist not understanding someone's behaviour. We have an innate curiousity about everyone around us, what they are eating for lunch, what they think of the teacher we hate, or maybe their deepest desires. 

This curiousity may even fend off to us finding people who we like, and eventually, who we love. We may love their silliest habits, their choices, or their thought process, whilst also hating them. That's probably the strangest characteristic feature of love, that its brightness may even blind us, for the better, or the worse. 

We start by the smallest things- by buying our friend a chewing gum to get through the annoying class, by letting our siblings reck our brains apart just so they have something to do rather than dusking in boredom or by simply making our parents a birthday card to make them happy during our childhood. These efforts, despite being minuscule, become significant to our loved ones. These efforts go on to make more space in our lives; a random piece of advice by our friends convinces us towards the right decision, our favorite food, especially when cooked by our parents, makes worth out of even a wasted day and a breath of fresh air at our most favourite place on Earth makes life worth living. 

Yet, to err is human. Academics, social lives, responsibilities, and proffessional lives make space of our day more than our interests. We stray from our true sources of happiness to seek temporary ones. Our favourite books are replaced by short videos; they're quicker. We send out a teachers day wish by google instead of the silly cards or our own true words; they're easier. There's only much that a human can do, right?

A certain amount of people realize this error at an appropriate time. Most of us, don't. We simply reminisce it, bask in its memories, and grieve its existence. According to a very famous series, what is grief if not love persevering? A huge amount of love still remains with us to give back to our beloved, yet we simply don't find enough time to gift it to the deserved. 

However, the question still remains; how have we sustained so long in our lives when we don't know how to define love? 

Are they the small actions we perform for them? Or the random reassurances? The hugs and kisses? Or the words we speak for them? 

I believe the answer remains with the individual. Yet the purpose remains the same; i.e to live our life, instead of simply surviving it.

What might be your answer?