They have it all wrong.

I look around me and I feel lied to by people and books.

Love isn't fireworks, it isn't the heat of passion, it isn't arguments and fights and struggles, there is no Worse to balance out the Better...it's easy.

Love, it's falling into step walking with your best friend, it's your hand fitting perfectly into someone else's, it's never getting tired of talking and laughing about trivial things, and never getting tired of being with them. It's a gentle ache of missing them when they leave for work in the morning  and the rightness you feel when you see them again. It's the shinyness that the simplest of activities acquire, and it's having someone else think of you with the small things that they do; thinking of someone and then finding out that they are thinking of you too.

It's new everyday, and yet in an instant it has been there forever.

It's realizing suddenly, through all the jaded haze acquired about the subjects of Love and Marriage, why it actually lasts for some, and what all those others are missing.