Love. I would ban the word from the vocabulary. Such imprecision. Love, which love, what love? sentiment, fantasy, longing, lust? Obsession, devouring need? Perhaps, the only love that is accurate, without qualification, is the love of a very young child. Afterward, she too becomes a person, and thus compromised. "Do you love me?" you asked in the dark of your narrow bed. "Do you love me Mommy?"
"Of course," I told you. "Now go to sleep."
Love is a bedtime story, a teddy bear, familiar, one eye missing.
Love is a toy, a token, a scented handkercheif.
Love is a check, that can be forged, that can be cashed.
Love is a payment that comes due.

-an emotion never experienced, a fantasy longed for, love is complex, how can you say it with such confidence?
changedfish-feeling literary