[ WP ] An author spends a whole book defining a single word .

`` To define it is to know it. But how; is the question. Can it be defined by actions? Is it the presents we give on holidays? Is the flowers from the corner shop, or the necklace last Autumn? 
 
 Can it be defined with words? Is it the poems we speak in whispers, or the songs sung on stage? The books read on the shut in days? 
 
 Can you define it with science? Chemistry, anatomy, pheromones. 
 
 Ca n't it not be calculated? The numbers plugged into an algorithm, spitting out a result of satisfaction? 
 
 The words unspoken seem to start the definition. The moments where they are not needed. Goose pimples rising on the back of your neck. The loss of breath and pounding of hearts. The reflection of yourself, pale in the iris of another, so close to see the desire in your own eyes. The sickly feeling in the pit of your stomach, like a churning of the sea ready to swallow vessels whole. 
 
 I tried. My hardest, my damnedest I tried to write this book, to define this word, to inform the world, to have the generations ahead know the meaning, but I failed. I can not define such a thing. It is abstract. The spirit of life itself. If there were a God, a creator, it would be his touch, his language. It would be the be the vassal of his coming, the music of his glory. 
 
 I can not define love. Love is the world, the bond that holds us together, as a species, as a world. It is something every man holds, different for all, yet the same. Love is...'' 
 
 

