Love is a thing but not a thing you can touch, like a pear or a sheet or a postcard. Love is a thing but not an imaginary thing, like a dragon or a god or the number i. Love is a thing but not a thing you can control, like a recipe or a memory or the blinking of your eyes.
Love is a thing that touches you, like the breath of wind or sunlight or someone's voice over the telephone line. Love is a thing that brushes the edges of your vision, like a quick movement in the corner or a dark cloth in shadow or a distand flash of light. Love is a thing that cuts both ways, like trust or hope or creativity.
Love is a thing that starts small, like you or me. Love is a thing that each person grows for him- or herself, like thought or imagination. Love is a thing that only works when it grows out of a fertile land, like the green shoot of the avocado slipping up through the dark, wet loam.
Love is not a thing but an idea.