\ˈləv\

Prologue

My hands tremble slightly as they hover clenched over my knees.

The air that finds its way out of my lungs is thin and shaky.

The white phone in front of me is blurring in and out of vision as her voice wavers out of the speaker. I can hear the good-bye in her voice, even though she hasn't said it. Though it hurts every time that phone rings and there isn't a voice to answer it on the other side, this pain is almost enough to convince me that I wish she had never picked up.

"I love you," she says.

My little sister is quicker to respond with an easy "I love you too momma," but I struggle for the words. I can feel my words numbly cracking across my lips, my heart following suit.

The words don't comfort me. They bring a cold truth that I shut deep inside my mind.

The cold Truth is that she doesn't love us- not really. She comforts herself with the idea that she isn't a true screw up to her kids, because despite everything- at least she loves them. But she uses that Love for a selfish reason, to make herself feel better about giving up, giving in.

That isn't what love is. Love isn't something you can just say to make yourself feel better: It's what moves us to change, to act, to be selfless, and to be the best possible person we can.

Or at least at the moment of writing those lines, that was a hard and firm definition I could agree on at the time. I suppose that's what this little novel is all about. The memories and moments that defined love for me then, and how those definitions change as I do. It's a journey I hope I never stop growing through. I've learned to embrace the inevitable evolution of the definition. From a linguistic perspective, definitions change as the ones who use the words change; my definition of love is also is growing, changing, and evolving as I do.