I did not know what love was when the October moon reflected off your eyes as we sat alone in the car, serenaded by the crickets.

I did not know what love was when I wiped a tear from your cheek and you looked at me and I knew that you knew that I understood.

I did not know what love was when you squeezed my hand in a crowd and no one knew you had done it. Except for you and I.

I did not know what love was when I betrayed your trust and you looked me intently in the eyes and said, “I forgive you.”

I did not know what love was when I heard you on the phone in the other room. You spoke of me in such way I knew I was special to you.

I did not know what love was when you walked across the room to speak to someone you knew and your movements seemed orchestrated by the gods. You laughed, the light behind you capturing the silhouette. Then you walked back to me.

I did not know what love was when I picked some daisies beside the road and brought them home to you and you smiled and kissed my cheek and went to get a vase.

I did not know what love was when we walked on the boardwalk that night and the wind blew your hair back as we passed a street light and I saw more of your face than I’d ever seen.

I did not know what love was when you lightly bit the inside of your cheek, the indention evident on the outside, as we walked towards the restaurant on my birthday. And I knew you never did that unless you were nervous. And there were a lot of people waiting inside to surprise me.

I did not know what love was when you called me to tell me the results of the medical test.

I did not know what love was when I lay on the beach that August afternoon and picked out the clouds that most looked like you as the waves broke close to our feet and the gulls danced with the breeze as their partner.

I did not know what love was when the aroma of your perfume wafted down from the woman at the front of the grocery store line. My senses came alive- for the thousandth time- with reminders of you.

I still do not know what love is.