Love is what gives rise to grief when love or the beloved is absent or dead. Love is what gives rise to despair when that which is loved absolutely, is absolutely inaccessible. Love is what gives rise to indignation when the beloved is wronged. Love is what gives rise to rage when the beloved is harmed. Love is what gives rise to the agony of sorrow that invades the lover who has given pain to the beloved.
Love is what makes it possible for vulnerability to entrust itself to the unknown other.
Love is what makes it possible to stand before the other with all one's darkness exposed, and feel no shame. Love is what can gaze steadily and see clearly any flaw in the beloved, and not be turned away. Love is what allows one to throw in one's lot with the beloved, though outcomes are uncertain. Love is to hold the beloved's heart with an open hand, trusting freedom. And love is known by me in the existence of many other experiences like these, too numerous and too varied for my heart to name.