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Love is when there is nothing else that matters. When there is only her. When there is no other reason to exist, except to make her happy. When every action is dictated by what she would want or prefer or like. When the only thoughts you can have are those that are in some way linked to her. When sleep alludes you in favor of thinking of her. When sleep does come, she is there, painting your dreams. When the greatest gift or thought or memory is her smile. When something goes wrong for her, all thought of anything else is gone, only how to make her stop hurting. When everything is somehow her. When you can look upon the imperfections and like them; for they build her character and make her who she is. When she hurts you, you think of how you can make it up to her. When you live without regard for anyone else, although you keep up your life to better suit her. When nothing else is worth the time you would waste when you could be thinking of her. When your greatest hope and dream is to hold her, to kiss her, to be with her. When only her opinion matters, even above your own. This is love.