I could be mistaken but I am pretty sure that this is called an ambush.
If this is love then there is definitely a dude, with a long white beard, on a golden throne, in the sky, with nothing else to do but jump to my defense when traffic is heavy on 75 and flick other people’s cars to the side since I called his name in a secret language.
All I can tell you baby is dies ist nicht die liebe…
I could be mistaken but I am pretty sure that this is called haunting.
If this is love, then when I rub a dirty lamp that I found in the desert three times, a non corporeal creature will appear and provide me with all of the happiness, wealth and success that I dream of, as long as I remember to fashion my demands into three crystal clear requests that cannot be misinterpreted by ancient jar spirits.
All I can tell you sweetie is questo non e amore…
I could be mistaken but I am pretty sure that this is called stalking.
If this is love, then a superior life-form to ours entered our stratosphere ions  ago, birthed us and then left us blueprints for iPhones under 20 feet of coal as a consolation prize for dumping us here and then rode out without so much as a ‘you’re welcome and we miss you’ note and only wish us well from beyond the edge of our galaxy in the hopes that we never make it off of our watery prison.
All I can tell you my dear, unequivocally, is ce n’est pas l’amour…
And maybe I don’t know what love is because if this is indeed what it is- a sporting, trapping, big game hunt of the unwilling, and disinterested, then I pray that the alien god genies who control us like unintelligent meat puppet playthings let tonight be my final wearisome sleep…