As Moon sat upon her hill, waiting for the tide to rise, she whispered to Sun, “Sun? What is love?”
Moon wasn’t expecting an answer. She only wanted to ask the question, because if she asked, the possibility of receiving an answer that thrilled her could exist— a question never asked, is, after all, a question never answered.
And as Moon sat upon her hill, trying to understand the question for herself, Sun’s words fell upon her like the sweetest touch of spring.
“Love is whatever it is. And that, dear Moon, is the only answer I know to give you.”