It is spring. I am living near a college, so these days I see many teenagers with their parents looking for their new apparment. That reminded me of the days I spent in university when I was a sophomore.
There was a friend who oftentimes asked me what it was that was called love. He was not in a romantic relationship at that time but he was obsessed with this question. He wanted to discuss it, talking about concrete experiences. I thought, and I still believe, nothing else is more awkward.
Also, I remember wondering why he should believe there was "true love" and be searching for it. Was there an essence of love? I told him there was no such thing. You could call love whatever you believed was love. This was my response. It was not because this was what I believed at that time that I answered this way, but just because I didn't want to talk about my personal experiences. With this he was not satisfied. I guess he just wanted to hear about his friends stories.