The other day, while discussing the recent break-up of a common acquaintance of ours, my very dear but pragmatic friend came up with a philosophical question untypical of him. “What is love anyway?” he asked, one eyebrow raised in search of a logical answer.

All I could think of was Hugh Grant and his romantic comedies and his floppy hair, so it took me a while to blurt an answer. “Hmm. I think it’s when you bring out the best in someone and that someone brings out the best in you.”

My friend tilted his head to one side: clearly the answer was not practical enough. And, in fact, when you think about it, even a hard-slaving boss can bring out the best in you, which is not what we’re after here.

The thing is, to me, love is not something that can be described in words; it is merely a snapshots of moments:

Love is when my daughter comes down for breakfast, rubbing her eyes, and asks if she could please have a morning hug; love is when you’re with your girlfriends having a coffee and the four of you discuss your fears of breast cancer and fears of leaving kids behind; love is the drawings stuck on the fridge where I’m always wearing a triangle yellow dress and enviously thick eyelashes spider up to the very edge of my forehead; love is when I’m in the kitchen with my mother and sister and I have no idea who or what they’re talking about, but the humdrum of the conversation is just comforting; love is when mother and sister and I laugh so much that one of us nearly pees in the pants; love is when I am vein-poppingly mad at someone but still feel warm in my soul; love is when I don’t have to talk, and silence works just as well; love is when I get bad news and I retreat in a cave, but every now and then I’ll hear my friends’ voices echoing telling me they’re waiting for me to get out (and that they won’t mind my cave hair); love is when I’m trying to catch sight of a shooting star while star gazing, and instead I fall asleep on a friend’s shoulder; love is walking on a beach at 2am with my best friend and suddenly the sky is thundering, there’s lightning all around us, we’re drenched up to our panties and we can’t stop laughing as we run, squelching, for the car.

There’s nothing remotely romantic about all the above; in fact, based on all this, I suppose, my definition of love is sharing life with people who mean a lot to you.

The Oxford Dictionary gives the definition of ‘a strong feeling of affection’, which I think is neither here nor there. Surely there are better definitions?

If you ask kids to describe love (which I did), they’ll tell you “it’s very easy “It is something you can feel in your heart, especially when you think about your best friend, Mummy or Jesus”; or “Love is joy mixed with a bit of happiness when you see your best friends and when your mama comes home from work”.

As usual, because this is a Very Important Issue, I rallied in my faithful contributors. The most logical answer was given by my academic friend: language is the very foundation of the human existence, therefore love is the highest level of communication between two people. This is what I also got from all the others:

Love is growing old together while staying young at heart;

Love is saying yes when you want to say no;

Love is saying ‘I love you’ to the ones you love when they least expect it;

Love is knowing someone else better than anyone else does, better even than they know themselves;

Love is seeing your partner across a room and still having the hots for them after 20 years;

Love is a many splendoured thing – but it can also be a pain in the arse

Love is someone who cares for your happiness, your well-being, and your growth;

Love is empathy and understanding;

Love is sharing the same thoughts and the same sense of humour;

Love is knowing there is no one else in the world you’re better suited too, or who is better suited to you;

Love is knowing how much you’ll miss someone before they are no longer around;

Love is never feeling like you’re doing a sacrifice;

Love is supremely free and yet it attaches us with bonds so strong that there is nothing it cannot face.

One friend paraphrased Ewan McGregor in Moulin Rouge: “Love is a many splendoured thing – but let’s not kid ourselves, it can also be a pain in the arse”. Could this be the best description of them all? My dear pragmatic friend – is your eyebrow still raised? – I hope this answers your question.

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Twitter: @KrisChetcuti