Let Me Tell You What Love is

She asked me what love is. So I told her.
I told her that love is a tidal wave, a hurricane, a warm summer’s day. I told her that love is shiver, an adrenaline rush, a thought that won’t go away. I told her it’s something that passes with time and grows in seconds. It’ll fill its mouth with minutes until they bleed into hours.
I told her it’s thinking of them, it’s putting them before yourself, it’s wanting to be perfect. I told her love is acceptance, that it’s a desire, a last hoorah. I told her to shoot it, to kill it.
I told her it will consume her, I told her it will become her, move her legs and her lips before she even means to. I told her to store the feeling, to build it up and nurture its buds. To hold on to it before it slips between her fingers. To let it catch fire but never let it go out. I told her it’s impossible.
She cried. I still do not know why.