Part one:
Love. How can it be that one word holds so much power, so much emotion, so much responsibility? How can one word possess an endless realm of connotation, only to render a person speechless at the mere idea of 'LOVE'. How could one fathom to express such a thing, when it can mean anything, everything, or nothing all in the same breath?

Part two:
When I was six years old, my mom would say 'I love you' every day. It was three months later when she stopped saying it to my father. How could she love me, but not love him? It was in this time that I finally came to terms with the complexity of the word 'love'.

Part three:
Asexuality is characterized by the idea that the person identifying as such has no feelings of the sexual nature. It took me five years -and perhaps I am still trying- to come to terms with the fact that being asexual does not make my love any less valid. Sexual desire is but one connotation for love, not the synonym.

Part four:
I ran my fingers shakily through my hair as tears rolled down my face. I sat in my closet on a pile of blankets, with the door shut so that the darkness surrounded me and only a crack of light broke through at the gap below. I brought a pillow with me, and the blankets carried the imprint of my aching body - the evidence of many hours spent with knees hugged to chest, and head on shoulder- a head with eyes that could spend an eternity staring up at the textured ceiling with nothing but the thoughts racing through my  brain and shaky hands gripping at a shirt sleeve. I bet you could tell where my mind wandered off far too often.

Part five:
It took us less than a week to become friends; I can't remember for the life of me how exactly that happened, but I am so glad -so thankful- that it happened. It started with the word 'appreciation' and then 'retweet' and finally 'I love you'. We didn't need a romantic pull to know that we loved and respected one another.

Part six:
Admiration is something I feel for...everyone. It baffles and intrigues me how humans can be so different, and how we can all have unique understandings and motivations. Some of the focuses of my admiration are stronger than others, and that may be wholly based on the fact that I have known these people for a longer time, or simply like them more, but I will never truly know why I admire everyone the way I do. And so, I measure my love as being synonymous with admiration, as I know not how to feel it any other way.

Part seven:
When I first heard your voice, a sense of calm came over me. I didn't even see your face, but as you sat behind me I reveled in the moments when you would add to the conversation. I would say your voice is like honey, but it's not as smooth and one-noted as that. The complexity and depth are what makes it unique; the quiet power behind each spoken word makes itself present, which feels both excitingly scary and...right at the same time.

Part eight:
If French is the language of love, then why do I still feel emptiness...this sense of yearning, when I am speaking in such a beautiful tongue? If French is the language of love, why can I not express myself to the fullest when I say 'je t'aime', ou 'je t'adore', ou même 'je crois que la vie est trop belle pour m'expliquer'.

Part nine:
I was drawn to you like a flower petal floating in the wind; unsure of its destination, but very well knowing that this was the right move in the next step of its endless journey.

Part ten:
If everything is better in odd numbers, then why is love so sublime and warm between two people? Why can I not feel sublime, glorious, and content when I am just one. I suppose it is because I am still human, and I still carry this...yearning for the unknown, and being with someone else still seems like a rational answer to help make the unknown a little more comprehensible, or at least it may allow me to come to terms with the idea of the unknown.