Love is like the white jacket and pastel shirts you bought and wore the first year “Miami Vice” was a really hot TV show.
You want it bad, you look hard to find it, you happily cover yourself in it, and later you look back and cringe.
Love is like a game of bridge. If you don’t have a good partner, you’d better have a good hand.
Love is like a game of chess. The game is over once someone gets mated.
Love is like a game of Sorry. It just is.
Love is like a game of mancala. No one really knows the rules except that you stick your hand in and toss a few seeds around.
Love is like a game of Civilization. It’s screw or be screwed. You sit around too long and everyone else gets some.
Love is like a game of Go. The computer just doesn’t make up for the real thing.
Love is like a game of naked Twister. mmmmm…
Love is like a buying a house. First you love it, but it smells funny. After you get the stink out and finally get it just the way you want it, it’s no fun anymore. Then you realize it’s just sucked up all of your money and your not really getting anything for it. Then you just try to dump it on some other poor sucker, who doesn’t realize its abundant flaws.
Or maybe I’m bitter.
This one gets my vote for best simile so far. I didn’t laugh my ass off as much as some of the other ones, but you can’t say this doesn’t hit the nail on the head.
This one refers specifically to chasing shamelessly after someone. Not really love, but a kinda of love. . .
Love is like trying to catch one of those squirrels on campus–it’s kinda fun, and I’m sure if I tried hard enough, I could actually do it, but in the end, all I have is a shrieking squirrel in my hands, some funny looks, and and the reoccuring thought, “What the hell did I do that for?”
Love is…just one of those things, you know? <gallic shrug>
jr8
“Love is the answer; but while you’re waiting for the answer, sex raises some pretty good questions.”
– Woody Allen
To continue the paraphrasing of Forrest Gump, we turn to the wisdom of The Cigarette Smoking Man, after finding out his spy novel has been rewritten as a porn story:
“Love is like a box of chocoloates, a cheap, thoughtless, perfunctory gift no one ever asks for. Unreturnable because all you get back is another box of chocolates. So you’re stuck with this mostly undefinable whipped mint crap, mindlessly wolfed down when there’s nothing else to eat during the game. Sure, once in a while you get a peanut butter cup or an English toffee, but it’s gone too soon and the taste is fleeting. In the end you’re left with nothing but broken bits of hardened jelly and teeth-shattering nuts, which if you are desperate enough to eat, leaves nothing but useless brown paper wrappers.”
Love is like watching a porno movie. You see what others are doing, think they must be doing something right and manage to garner some hope that this time might be different, so you get all excited, and then it’s not as good as you expected.
Maybe that’s just my love life, though.
And maybe I’ve seen too many pornos. 
Love is like elephant… It’s ancient, it’s a behemoth, it gallavants across the barren plains in search of sustenance. It trumpets, wallows in the mud to avoid the heat, yet still reaches out to others with it’s most remarkable appendage.
It caresses the bones of those dear in it’s memory, and is often decimated due to a small particular part stolen by greedy janks.
Yup.
And a Damn pity.
Love is like a rainbow, very beautiful, but no matter how close you get, you can never quite grasp it.
And there ain’t no pot of gold at the end.
Love is like a visit to the chiropractors office. You keep on going back but aren’t sure why, but you feel better afterwards.