What is love?

What is love?
Love is a mystery.
Never to be revealed. Never to be understood. Is love real, or is it just a dream? A pure illusion, something we imagine, invent to make peace with our own mortality. Love remains, as a whisper, a flame; maybe ever lasting in a different sense. Never static, never the same. A breeze. A breath. A caress. A feather in the air. A droplet of a tear.
What is love?
Love is a mystery.

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Often times we confuse other feeling(s) with love. Perhaps a combination of different feelings; we attribute them to “love.”
Or is it that “love” is behind all our feelings? To some extent, in some way.
Or, is it “love” at all? If it’s love, should it not be everlasting, without limits and prejudice. Or is it just part of the cycle of life. Ever changing, different, evolving with time. Changing from one thing to another. Morphing into different shapes, shades, depths...never constant as our own “self” is never the same. Or, is it?
Perhaps, all is just too subjective. Even a sphere changes from different angles, in response to a light source...
But maybe, there is “love” that’s constant, even everlasting, in the ultimate kind of sense. Maybe it’s the force (itself) driving this strange cycle of life, as energy fueling the machinery... and just because all we know is temporary, does not mean it is all there is.
Or, does it?

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I write you a letter. A letter I will never send. Or, perhaps some day, when I find your existence.
Questions I have, seem not to matter, or should remain unanswered. Whether a reality, or a dream. Perhaps that is not important. I write these lines to let my imagination fly. To create something of nothing, but thoughts running through my mind. Are you the reader? Or am I?