(I was trying to describe this to a friend and decided to put it here, despite my fears.)
I have found that there are at least two kinds of romantic love. There is the first type which is sweet and lovely and tender. It can sneak up on you. It makes you feel good and warm and safe, like a canoe on a still lake in the summer sunshine.
There is also the second kind. This kind makes you feel wild and desperate for something to cling to in order to keep from drowning, like a piece of driftwood in a turbulent sea. It is shifting and uncertain; it makes you feel insecure and terrified but is somehow still wildly addicting.
Probably there are other kinds and even hybrids of these, but these are the ones I have experienced.
A friend recently asked me which I prefer. At one time I would have been irresistibly curious about the second kind but, having now been there, I have to say the sweet and gentle one is for me. It doesn't make you question who you are. It doesn't make you want to die from agony. It makes you close your eyes and smile. It makes you want to be a better person.