(Note that the author was 14 years old when she wrote this story.)
I think, the way people say that children and teenagers don't know what love really 'is', isn't true. Just silly. Because I've always known what love is, even when I was too young to walk - because I've always loved my family and my friends. Love is that encompassing feeling that is indescribable, a little like what the movies and books say, but more not. It's not constricted to romance, and never has been - it's that special feeling beyond comprehension, because if we understood it, it wouldn't be love. And so, I've always been secure in that: knowing how much I loved my family, and how they loved me back. It kept me happy and well in both dark times and good ones.
You know the saying that nobody is perfect till you fall in love with them but have you ever thought about how true that saying is? I mean if you ever really love someone can you hate anything about them? And when you lose someone you love doesn’t your world seem to grow dim. And just because there gone doesn’t mean that you love them less. And when you think of them doesn’t everything become a little brighter? Aren’t they still your reason for light?
Because when you've been sitting in a dark room for hundreds of years, and one day, someone draws open the curtains that you didn't know were there, and you feel the sun's light for the first time, caressing your skin, drowning your mind, and burning your soul, you don't need to answer when someone asks those inevitable questions.
Why do you love the sun?
And will you ever stop?