Love is the red balloon you got when you were 3 and it made you cry when:
It exploded, impossible, outrageous, the great bear of nothingness eating your face with one bite, BANG.
It flew away, after a mistake a tiny, probably, as your anguish was huge to think that just one absentminded, taking-it-for-granted slip meant the balloon was lost forever. Remember that instant when you grabbed for it and maybe even the string dragged against your hand but you couldn't hang on to it, just slid away to dwindle smaller and smaller in a sky that grew huger and crueler until there was no balloon at all?
It shrank. It shank. You could hardly notice the difference from day to day, but soon, as the helium osmosed out of it, it started drifting around the middle of the room, ridiculous, a little annoying, getting in the way. Then one morning it was on the rug, and then it got kicked around till it settled into a dusty corner to dwindle and wrinkle to uselessness with all the other toys you'd outgrown.
Now you're grown up, and love is stil like a balloon except you can avoid the three terrors listed above with the following three solutions:
You can rich enough to buy all the balloons you want. You can marry the balloon vendor. Or best of all, you can become a balloon vendor of sorts yourself.