Descriptive Essay About Love

Much has been said about love, but if you search the horizon, you will discover that most of the things written about love are either pithy or cynical.

She stands at 5'6’’ tall; she has pretty blonde hair, with the most beautiful green eyes you will ever see! Her smile, her smile still gives me butterflies in the pit of my stomach. She walks with such grace, and she is not afraid to show or share her love for Christ! She does so much to make sure that I am more than satisfied. She is an amazing mother to our beautiful 4 year old daughter. As you might have figured out, that woman, she is my wife Amanda! I never thought we would be together; 4.5 years later, we have a beautiful love story.

One late morning in 1914, I leaned against the newly painted silver railings of the large Majestic, a beautiful ship with a black bottom and a bright white top. Murky, charcoal-black smoke came out of the three enormous, grey, cylinder-shaped chimneys, which began combining with the fresh sea air. The thunderous boat horn was then suddenly blasted, interrupting the beautiful, calming noises of the sea. I heard the screeches of the white seagulls choke as they flied through the tenebrous smoke. I took a deep breath of the crisp air, and held onto the cool railings. With my eyes focusing on the horizon where the sky meets the sea, I noticed how the soft, shimmering sun bleed through the dark white clouds, pouring

Love is difficult to define, difficult to measure, and difficult to understand. Love is what great writers write about, great singers sing about, and great philosophers ponder. Love is a powerful emotion, for which there is no wrong definition, for it suits each and every person differently. Whether love is between family, friends, or lovers, it is an overwhelming emotion that can be experienced in many different ways.

The first time we kissed was after we had had sex. I knew we were lying on freshly washed white cotton sheets and that we were in your bedroom, but I couldn’t see anything aside from your hands. My mom always told me that hands always tell you more than eyes or mouths ever can. Your hands were smooth, and besides writing down exams they had never seen the hardship that mine had. There were no callouses, and the skin around your palm was soft and cushiony. Mumbling along to a song playing in the background, I remember tracing words onto your skin, then giggling as you tried to figure out what I had written.

I always dated guys that were bad news. I only started dating at eighteen and I'm twenty one now. The guys I dated were either into drugs, cheating, alcohol, or just not good for me. They got me in to some bad things.

The first time Daisy saw James Gatz she knew she loved him. I remember her coming over to my house and telling me all about him. They met at a diner where he was a dishwasher. He saw her come into the diner multiple times but she was always with other people. One day she came in by herself and he got enough courage to go talk with her. Gatz’s shift had just ended so he sat and talked with her. They immediately clicked. He walked her home and James officially asked her on an official first date. Daisy called me and told me about him that night. She told me how good looking he was. She thought James Gatz was the one she had dreamed of marrying since she was a little girl.

The sun’s light rays shined down on the earth outside, growing warmer as it rose above in the sky. Inside Layton’s chambers, where it was dark and cool, he lay working himself to sleep, gorging on the now free pouring life from the girl frail between his arms. He was starving by the time he left Ava, but he didn’t realize until now it wasn’t for blood. He didn’t understand what exactly as he tightened his grip around the flesh, the need constricting his breathing and scorching through his veins through to his heart, his eyes, where it all burned.

Three rings sit upon my hand, wrapping around the perimeter of my fingers. Each one was given to me in order to represent what I mean to the bestower, one ring means more. It’s not that it holds a higher monetary value, rather just a higher and wider space in my heart. I see a future in it, a promise that love is present, and will remain that way during my lifetime. It’s bonded to my finger, leaving a line behind when rarely removed. It’s a promise.

Not here though. Some time ago, these walls had witnessed love, romance, and passion, they indulged in it, breathing in the essence of love, to expel it upon the next occupants, to inspire them to continue the tradition.

The hypnotic glare of thousands of pixels illuminates the contours of my body, projecting a shadow of desolation onto the bedrooms walls which seem to stand over me. My shame blindfolds me. The voices inside my head reverberates,

Soft rays of sunlight dance gently across my face leaving patterns in every direction they move. My bedroom walls remind me of you. Days without you by my side are black and white. Dull. I had no friends until you came back into my life. Our time together was magenta. Peaceful. You always knew how to draw me to you, even without meaning to. Chilling. The blue sky that one day when we were nine laying down on the grass at the park, that was the day I first realized I kind of loved you. These same walls we confessed our love and desires. As I lay here in my bed with sheets you once laid, I feel your presence consume me.

Love. Love is shown in so many ways. Whether it be a loving husband buying a beautiful, diamond ring or a child’s crush bringing the other a tootsie roll, love is always being expressed. What is one way that no matter what your age, or what the mood of your significant other is in, you can look like the most caring person in the world? A magnificent glass vase filled with freshly plucked, blooming flowers. A vase full of fresh flowers can really mean a lot to someone who is sick, is having a hard time, or just needs an exaggerated reminder that they mean the world to you. There is such a deeper meaning to the vase then you could imagine at first glance.

I believe in going out on Saturday nights. I believe in the frost from my breath visible the cold air, the squish in my soaked shoes from inches of rain, and the hair on our arms raising from fear of the zombies being paid to scare us in the haunted house. I wouldn’t change the rain hitting against my windbreaker or the cold sweat for anything.

Soft, white sand runs through my toes like corn silk as I lounge in my self-made recliner. With a smile, my thoughts tumble back on this morning. I was standing in front of the counter; my fingers pruned in soapy water, when my husband approached me from behind. He wrapped his long arms around my waist and whispered in my ear, “How would you like to see the ocean today?” Since our move to Texas mere months ago, I have longed to fulfill my life-long dream. I turned to hug him with excitement, dish soap trailing down his back from my hands.