No one knows what love is. Not really.

It's one of those stupid things in life that has no purpose, no meaning, it's just something that is. He once looked it up in a dictionary when he was bored in class, but "strong passion or deep-seated affection" only goes so far. He once asked his mother how she knew she was in love with his dad, and her answer "I just knew" didn't help his qualms.

He thinks he'll never really know what love is, it will just be one of those things that he thinks about now and again but never really know the answer to. One of those silly little things he thinks about as they sit together in the deserted train station and she threads her fingers through his.

"I think I'm in love with you." He says, but he will never truly know.