In the spirit of the day, I consider that the point of love is to reflect back at the beloved a vision of them that sees them capable, that admits possibility, that illuminates an idea of the beloved as achieving whatever it is that they are dedicated to. I would have it be that this ideal is never realized, and not due to failure (though of course that is inevitable), but because the vision matures along with the actions a person takes in becoming. I suppose this is an imperative brought upon love, and that, subsequently, I don’t want love to be just a glowing emotion. And yet, who am I kidding? What is the point of love? Anti-loneliness. That’s all.