What does the word 'love' mean to you?

More than one of my companions has accused me of being dispassionate and devoid of the capacity to experience love. Once, Sarah Jane even went so far as to call me inhuman. I'm afraid therein lies the truth of the matter. I am not of the species homosapien, although just about everybeing makes that mistake. And while I may not experience the emotional equivalent of love that humans are always mooning about, I do have an understanding of the concept. I'm not unfeeling or hearts-less, you know.

Without love there would be no romance in culture. I shudder to think of the great works of art that might never have been born without the inspiration of love to guide the author's quill or the painter's brush. I have yet to see the civilization that can thrive without some aspect of love upon which to build. It is the passion to persevere against impossible odds; to stand for a cause or a belief because it stirs something deep within. It is compassion for another. It is sacrifice and pain. It is at once fanciful and concrete.

Love may be the most diverse emotion in the Cosmos, rivaled only by hatred.

And that is my passion. My love, if you will. To circumvent hatred in all it's guises, anywhere and anywhen.