Love.

Love to some is a little cottage with a wraparound porch that has a cozy swing for two, perfect for steaming, fresh brewed coffee with the perfect amount of cream in the misty morning light. The overflowing flower pots bursting with color, and plush grass that's a little too long. I can only imagine that the inside of the home is filled with love. A king sized bed and fluffy pillows that you and your love sink into at the end of the day and don't want to leave in the early morning light. It has windows everywhere that let in the light from the sun or moon. A room just for books with a winding staircase and cozy couches for afternoon naps. A giant kitchen with an island and a huge wooden table for large family dinners that always has a fresh bouquet of flowers from the garden. 

To others its the quaint areas of town that draw the free-spirits. Funky coffee shops filled with personality and fabulous coffee, abstract art covering the walls, and destroyed brick walls. The little clothing boutiques, fresh food markets, hippie shops, kids playing in the front yard, couples walking their dogs and a sense of community you don't feel anywhere else. 

To others it's creative freedom. Painting, writing, touching. It the feeling of abandon you get when you touch the person you love. It's getting lost running your hands through their hair or tracing their face. Its the contented sigh of feeding your creative side. It's dreaming of places you want to go, and things you want to do. It's making lists, plans, and brainstorming.

It's passion. Period. If you don't have passion you aren't really living.