• "You are forbidden from speaking to him again!"
    "But Mom! I-"
    "Don't even say those words! Your 15! What do you know about 'love'???"
    "But it's true! I honestly love him mom!"
    "That's enough! I don't want to hear another word about this. You are forbidden from speaking to that...filth. End of discussion."
    "Mo-"
    "KYLIE!" she said in a tone that I dare not challenge.
    I looked down at my feet, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of seeing me cry.
    "I'll cry later" I silently promised myself.
    This "discussion" was a frequent one in my household. I waited for her to sigh and shuffle out of the room per usual. However this time, she violently huffed out a loud breath and slammed the door on her way out, letting loose a long stream of profanity that made me inwardly cringe.
    As soon as I heard the echoing slam down the hallway in her bedroom, I threw myself on to the bed. Gut-wrenching sobs soon took over my body and the only conscious thought that I have is his name.
    "James...James...James...James..." over and over again I whispered his name between my sobs. I desperately wanted to talk to him, no matter what she said. However, I knew better than to do that this soon after one of our 'discussions'. I pulled out my journal and started writing.

    What Is Love?

    My mother insists that I'm too young to know what love is. Little does she know, love has been my best friend, my worst enemy, and everything in between for the past five years.
    Love...Love is when you feel the absence of someone more strongly that the presence of another. It is when that person is you last thought before you fall asleep at night and the first thought when you wake up. It is when that other person, is your best dream and your worst nightmare, all at once. It is when your greatest desire is for them to be happy, no matter what that may mean for you.


    I looked down at the page, just realizing that I was still crying. I watched a tear fall off my face and smudge the words on my page, causing the ink to lazily trickle down the page and onto my comforter. I wished for, what seemed like the trillionth time, that he lived closer, that we were older, that he hadn't moved away. I knew that there was no point in wishing, all it would do is make me cry harder and longer. I resumed writing.

    Love has no age limits, no boundaries, and no respect for your feelings. It makes you feel like your flying one minute and the next like you jumped out of a plane without a parachute, without any chance of stopping your disastrous free-fall. Love is endless forgiveness. When you know that he can do anything in the world, and you would still forgive him. It's when he can be the biggest jerk in the world, and you will still talk to him the next day. Love isn't rational, or sensible, or wise. It's when you throw caution to the wind and give up on sanity. It's when you say that you'd die for that person, and you mean it.
    If someone were to ask me why I love him, I would have to tell them that I honestly don't know. I don't have a reason, all I have is this overwhelming sense of caring and worrying and a butterfly feeling in my stomach whenever I think or talk about him. I was listening to the radio and it said :     "When you love someone and we have a reason, you are loving them with your head. Are you still going to love them when that characteristic goes away? When you say you love someone and you don't have a reason, you are loving with your heart."This was exactly what I've been trying to say, this whole time. I know what love is, and I know that I love him, I just don't know why....