Love is the quiver in your words, the slight tremble in your voice. The worry in your eyes, the soft pulsing of your heart. The way you phrase your request, careful not to touch on the nerve of a frayed mind. Delicate, delicate, "please."

Love is the patience in your smile, the gentleness in your touch. The warmth of your embrace, the tears falling off your cheeks. The way you keep looking straight when madness consumes the last bit of what remains. "It's alright."

Neither complete nor perfect.

Doesn't matter at all.