Love.

What is love?  A simple question, with complex overtones (oak barrels and hints of coffee!).  It is not finding perfection in the sense that we'll never have to work again, either to better ourselves or to accomplish some external goal.  It is not the ability to know that you've found the one person that you can share your life with to the exclusion of all others.  It definitely is not found in the most exquisite restaurants, or in the fanciest cars, and it isn't owning a home or finding a smooth quality in your vowels when you speak about a certain person.  It isn't lust.  And it isn't the first year or so of any relationship, no matter how intense, or what anyone says.  No, love emerges, I think, over time, when two people actually change their own personalities in subtle ways to make room for another personality within their own subjective evaluation of the world.  It is an inter-subjectivity that is at once consonant and dissonant, and it is constantly moving, too.  It fights.  It bites.  It brushes teeth, and farts, and it feels secure.  It feels almost infinitely secure, with only the hint of loss that could come from experience, and the knowledge that longevity and spontaneity can successfully mate.