Love is a verb.

While so deserved,
I am not disqualified.
It is the qualifier.
Everything else is failure.
Everything else is disatisfaction.
It points towards a hope that cannot be understood.
Without It, life is meaningless.
Without It, life does not work.
Without It, life is nothing.
With It, the pains and the grumblings make sense.
With It, there is purpose.
Though wretched that I am,
I can live and breathe again because of It.