It's 7 in the morning

I'm off to my first place of learning

Imaginative Writing

When suddenly

The lady whom I've given the best 3 years of existnece to 

Stops me and kisses me in the midst of the condensed hall

A thousand lip collisions since the first

And my weariness is totaled after each one to this day

I look into the depths of your iris hypnotized

And say

"I Love You."

You then raise your caramel dimples and say it back with a voice of clarity

That I wish I posessed

As a writer whose gimmick is complex rhyme schemes

Webster and I are practically sensei and pupil

I am taught how to acheive zen 

Through his words of wisdom

Yet that one word

That one word

Lacks the definite of a definition to this second

It claims it is no more than intense sexual attachment

A mere attraction

But magnets repel similarities and Love

We are much too alike

It states that it can be a noun

Yet in no manner have you given yours in a giftwrap yet

Love

Says that hatred is an antithesis

Yet the thesis statement of our empathetic dialogues are always "I know I drive you crazy, but I just care too much."

The dopamine releases from your compliments 

Yet the heart pumps of furious red blood the moment you condescend

The definition didn't state my tone would get violent when you say you need space

The definition didn't state my eyes would trail to you in a crowd by instinct

The definition didn't state you could make me cry

Or laugh

Or smile

Or make me lose my sanity

Easier than any other organism on Gaia's face

The sensei

Knows only what is

Since feelings are not in a state of being

Perhaps this endless search of answers

Is making my true definition fleeting