I'd argue that it's love
To spend hours discovering each other
Through similar and dissimilar traits,
To roam unfamiliar streets under a new sun
With her companionship the only familiarity,
To bewilderedly accept the offer of her home,
And listen and listen with ears already overflowing from inside
To aid her in coping with its contents however I can.
But because we've both agreed
That romance is just an irritating subplot
Serving only to nerf characters & delay explosions
You dare to dismiss it.
I'd argue that it's love
To find a kindred soul through happenstance
Such that two weeks seem infinite,
To carry on conversations with syllables and glances
Conveying only grace notes to the implicit unison,
To catch each other through fall after fall,
Lighting both the path forward and the path upward.
But because they and I
Are not two matching halves, but one whole,
You dare to call us lesser.
I'd argue that it's love
To exert blood, sweat, and tears toward the same goal,
And live the highest form of life together,
To support and be supported without always knowing
"What", but never needing to search for "why",
To make plans across miles and years and selves
That no matter how broken the world becomes,
He and I are together.
But because our matching rings
Are black and right-handed,
You dare to deem them false.
What a sad life you must lead, then,
If you would replace these with "love".