Love is obviously a very difficult concept to define. It is sort of assumed as a legitimate idea that must refer to some aspect of meaningful interactions. Some suggest that without it we could never truly be or experience what we are; human beings. I say when in doubt about it, reflect upon the words of Pablo Neruda's poem "I do not love you"
"I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep."
Translated by Stephen Tapscott
by Pablo Neruda
Maybe it doesn't resolve the problem of the necessary existence of love, but it does provide hope.