I can feel the cracks in my spirit theyre starting to bust

Its always an on-going dispute,some sort of ceaseless saga when it comes to the notion of it. Is it made believe? Is it the ideal epilogue of a rom-com,the ending of a fable? An excerpt of Taylor's Swift's ballad? What illustrates love? It takes form in this enigmatic form. Some claimed to have felt it,whilst others are just in love with the idea of being in love. Where do you draw the line to distinguish its authenticity? How does one establish its existence? Whatever verdict or remarks on it has never been factual. However,the debate on it has and will always be subjective. The variations of the definitions given on this has given me a lot to contemplate. There are different types of love, and this is the sort that extends beyond the platonic line. Some claim,one can always fall in and out of love. Which anchors me to yet another spate of mentally knackering questions and personal reasonings. Is there a limitation period? What makes something short-lived and what induces the interim factor. As opposed to those who are happily married? Im portraying my role as a skeptic specifically for this matter, im adamant on my personal principles and i rely heavily on the notion that its non-existence until i personally encounter that whole butterflies in my gut shit. And it will actually last. There were instances where some form of internal battle occurs as an Adonis-like specimen is caught in my sights, fits all the spaces. But thats not the endgame. Not my endgame at least.