There is a lot I could say about this, but for now I'll just leave a passage from Mayfly Requiem. Sometimes love just doesn't make sense, but we have to learn to deal with it anyways. I'm not dealing with spontaneous love, love with no explanation or reason, but I know people who have. We do not choose who we love, and the who doesn't matter. What matters is that we love at all, because without love, we are nothing but ego and dust.
Love is a peculiar affliction, but you know this already, my sweet Dia. Bitter, uncontrollable, unpredictable. It washes over us like floodwater, sweeping away all common sense and replacing it with rambling, fluttering sweet nothings. We try to shove it aside and forget our feelings toward mortals, but we are creatures of emotion and the harder we push away, the harder it grips us. We have never been able to escape it.
What is it, anyways, this affliction called love? Attraction? Moths are attracted to flames, but that does not mean they love it and does not make it not dangerous for them. Lust? I don't think so. I can lust after anyone physically appealing, but that does not mean I want to spend a mortal lifetime together. Chemistry? Pheromones? The insatiable urge to relieve a bit of sexual angst? I don't know, Dia. Maybe you know better than I, even though you've now found yourself in a loveless relationship. Maybe this love word so freely thrown around is just a word.
Or, maybe, it is more. Maybe it is a bond, a subtle version of the link we share, a tendrilling vine of souls, spiraling ever closer together. A gentle understanding, unashamed acceptance, a dream which continues upon waking, a futile wish never to be alone again. Whatever it is, love is a lost struggle to us, another relic of the past and memory of the future. Can't do anything about it though, can we? We are meant to love. We are meant to lose. Love is our promise of a bittersweet end, and our desperate, hopeless struggle not to hurt anyone along the way.