Love

People have tried to say what love is for as long as there have been words. Here is a try: love is wanting good things for someone — wanting them near when they are far, and wanting them happy when they are sad. You do not decide it. It happens to you.

How it starts

It can start with one small word — hello — said to a person you do not know. At first you know only that you want to be near them. The part inside you that pushes your blood goes more quickly when they are near, and your mouth does not find its words well. Other people can see it on you before you see it in you.

The promising

At times love makes people want to promise. One person asks the other a question: Will you marry me? And at times the other person says the biggest small word in this book: Yes. Then they marry: in front of the people they love, they promise to be two parts of one thing, for all the years they have. In many countries, each one puts a small round piece of metal on the other's hand, and people who see the metal know.

What it makes

At times love makes a family, and the family makes more love, and children grow up inside it like plants in good ground. A parent starts loving a child before the child has done one thing. The child did not do one thing to be given this love. It was given before it was asked for.

Love is not only between two people, and not only for people: ask a person with a dog. And people make music about love, more than about all other things. Turn on a radio and count.

When it hurts

Love is why it hurts when someone dies. The love does not die with them; it has no place to go now. People carry it. If you see a person with water in their eyes and no hurt on their body, it is often this.

What this book cannot do

This book can explain the sun, the atoms, and the machines. It cannot explain love. No book can — not the big books with big words, and not this one. But no one needs a book for it. You will know it when it starts happening to you.