Without love, most of us would not be here. Our parents would never have met each other and we would not have been born.
Even mine.
They said they did love each other once upon a time even though all I ever saw as I grew up was the screaming and the fighting. The earliest promise I made to myself was that I was never going to live like that. Only a saint can entirely avoid hate, anger and fighting but at least I knew what I was aiming for. Fast forward a lot of years and here we are, my husband and I, we have lived for each other and only death will part us. Love is so precious to me because I know what the opposite of love is like.
Actualy that's wrong, isn't it? The opposite of love is not hate, it's more like sociopathy. The sociopath thinks that other people don't matter, they only exist so that he can use them for his own advantage then discard them like soiled paper towels. For the lover, other people do matter and one special person matters more than anything else, not for any reason, not because he is so handsome, not because he make me happy, not because I can't live without him, just by virtue of his very existence.