I like to think of love as a mystery, 

Everyone around you has at one or the time claimed to have it, but you can never tell if they did. 

You see traces of it around the busy streets but before you can chase it down, it vanishes. 

You see people profess it so openly & passionately with glee, and turn back around to curse one another with fury. 

Deep down everyone badly wants a taste, but it only appears to tease like an appetiser and leaves the guest starved without a main dish. 

The more you want to know about it, the less you know. 

And in the end you can’t take anyone’s word for it so you wait till you’re called on stage for your serving, praying that it tastes like everything you hoped it would.