Now. I want to qualify my little principle in two ways. Love and fear are not really opposites. They are something more like sky and sea, each becoming the other. There is always deep and profound fear in love, and there is always love in fear, too. To love someone, to really love them, is to grieve like an earthquake a little every time you look at them, because you know will one day lose them. And to fear someone is to wish terribly that they loved you, too. So to really love is to “integrate”, as the pyschologists sometimes say, the power and fury and weight of one’s fears — and in that way, to forge a love that is as strong as steel, as explosive as a supernova, but still as gentle as a child’s hands, because fear has given it backbone, gravity, presence. Does that make a little sense?