Only love is real. A noble sentiment. But what, exactly, are its implications? Does it mean that all else is unreal, as in fake? As in fraudulent, as in a lie? Or unreal as in truly intolerable, unlivable, tragic, horrifying? Or is it only surreal, the world a simulacrum of feeling, sentimental and cloying? Or could it be hyper-real, like parents loving their children too much, children unable to love as a result? What is the reality of human love?
Finding...