The revelation of love

Some people think that I am obsessed with death, but I am not. It holds perhaps a morbid fascination for me in its almost unparalleled power to reveal love. One could argue, if like me, you are a believer, that it is through the very act of death that the fulness of the One who is Love is finally revealed to us. But even apart from that eschatological reality, on a crude human level, is it still not true?: Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation. (Kahlil Gibran)

CS Lewis, who knew love in the romantic sense, only very late in life - and briefly at that - before his wife, Joy, died of cancer, wrote in a poem Joys that Sting:

To take the old walks alone, or not at all,
To order one pint where I ordered two.
T0 think of, and then not to make, the small
Time-honoured joke (senseless to all but you);

To laugh (oh, one'll laugh), to talk upon
Themes that we talked upon when you were there,
To make some poor pretence of going on,
Be kind to one's old friends, and seem to care,

While no one (O God) through the years will say
The simplest, common word in just your way...