Love is a question mark.

How do you define love? Where do you start?

There’s romantic love, of course, but there’s also friendship love, and the simple, innocent love of a child.

There’s love that has weathered through the storm, like the look you may sometimes catch glancing between two who’ve been married so long that the little tree their son planted has surpassed their child in growth and become a towering giant.

There’s love in the tense, alert form of a Labrador dog laying by the front door, awaiting his master’s step, and in the whiskers of the kitten on your lap that give a trusting twitch in his sleep.

There’s love in the bouquet left by the gravestone, in the rosary beads between the gnarled fingers, and in the cookies delivered by the children to the new neighbors.

There’s love in glances, and rumpled letters, and in the small gestures.

There’s love in the hug which shares a little of the soul, in the hand made gift, in the broad smile and the untamed laugh.

Love is a question mark.

Sometimes the question is more important than the answer.