Love. Who truly can understand what it is, how to define it. Even if it is defined, do we truly want a definition? Or would that just ruin our passion for the mystery? I can tell you, I have found love. Found love in a road that licks poor children’s bare feet with mud. A road, lavishly decorated with run down buildings sporting the graffiti of teenage angst. Men, women, and children all laughing and speaking in a language so far from my own it’s filled with grace and beauty. And in the middle of it all, an old women, with wrinkles that wrap her face with age, sunken in eyes that sparkle with memories of years I have never seen and haunting recollections of the dead. A towel, on her head, saving the last of her graying, thinning hair from the rasping wind. And here, in the middle of it all, she carefully carries a basket full of ragged dirty clothing, like it was the most precious thing in her life. And I watched on with envy because I realized that it was here, in the middle of it all, is where I found love.