One summer night I was walking through the park, lost in my thoughts, looking for the meaning of love, a word pronounced by many but meaningless to almost no one.
More than thirty minutes had passed when I suddenly came back to the real world. I started my way back, and it was about five minutes after my return when I found it, that old and wonderful book, I took it in my hands, sat down on the bench, began to read it, and I could not help my astonishment when I read its content; it was a compendium of answers to many existential questions and dilemmas. I began to read, page by page, and it was as if it answered all those questions I had.
That night I returned home where, with hesitation, I read the whole book, until I reached the last page, where the writer was going to talk about the greatest of the uncertainties that were going around in my head, I was stunned when the whole book culminated with the definition of that which I was seeking to define: Love.