Love is "the reality of realities, the incomprehensibly glorious truth of truths that lives and breathes at the core of everything that exists or that ever will exist" (Eben Alexander).
Love is this thing that thing's so hard it doesn't matter if it thing's you back.
When my meditation teacher prompts me to "imagine a peaceful place",
I imagine a mountain named King George.
I imagine sinew lashing cuts in my hands after sewing so hard.
I imagine cliffs painted a beautiful red with the blood of a couple who fell to their deaths.
I imagine Arctic Bay, Ikpiarjuk---Inuktitut for "pocket"---the perfect place to fit my heart into.
What I feel, though, is love.