Another windy breeze... appologies, lol
I agree entirely with drofinnah. The German philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein brought Western Philosophy more into line with Zen, when he concluded that Language can only be used to describe, not to explain. I can tell you that I live in a red house, but ultimately, I cannot tell you what "red" is.
I do believe/ feel that "love" can only be felt going from us, out to the world indicriminately, embracing everything, accepting everything, observing everything.
If you are attached to getting a good feeling, its sure to ellude you, always remain empty, let your senses, or the world fill you.
The problem for most of us arises with the extreme misuse of the word "Love." "She's a good girl, loves her mother, loves horses, and America too." Tom Petty
Without meaning to get Freudian, I don't think the ego, "illusory self" wants real love, I think it wants an extended, or more complex version of our infantile relationship with our mother, a relationship essentially based on the gratification of very basic, fundamental physical needs.
Hunger is painful especially for a mind which does not know, nor understand how to end the pain of hunger/ urine, being acidic, is also very painful to new-born skin especially in an unchanged diaper, bacteria grows quickly, leading to increasingly complex physical issues/ teething is obvious/ and physical proximity to the mother = safety. A new born baby will immediately and instinctively seek out the mother's breast.
Who could argue that for such a fragile consciousness, being denied such basic and fundamental necessities, the resulting trauma would be long-lasting indeed? Complicated more so by the indiscriminate nature of memory and rational thinking at that age.
Such an individual is left with trauma, something like a physical memory, (in the bones - sort of speak). A memory of pain and discomfort, and an "unconscious" (if you will), drive to avoid such a state again. To an infant, the mother is the source of physical comfort, to the traumatized adult, the sexual partner often becomes the idealized mother, the source of what is so often misinterpreted as love, (essentially physical comfort). Pleasure(s) insure no discomfort/ constant eating means never being hungy, constant oral stimmulation/ genital stimulation/ etc. becomes for many a means of dealing with an underlying anxiety of potential discomfort.
As long as we seek this mistaken, ego related love, we cannot deal with true love. However, I don't think that we can just bunny-hop over this hurdle. Traumatized adults have to adress this "potential danger which for them appears to lurk behind all discomfort" before they can move on.
Although I'm not necessarily advocating this lifestyle, historically in Zen, this is dealt with by the individual driving themselves into a life of extreme aceticism. Sitting for very long hours without moving/ asking for or recieving the kusaku stick, (quite painful)/ eating very little/ sleeping very little, (sometimes not at all). In the midst of such extreme hardships, there comes the realization that I'm alive, I'm OK, it's alright, I'm still happy. Thus ends the chasing after illusory love, and begins, little by little, "being" true love.
By facing the pain, we face the fear surrounding the pain, which in fact is merely fear. Physical sensation only becomes pain in the presence of fear, apprehension, resistance. That's why many Zen monks, and Hindu Yogis often endure various self-mutilation practices, such as burning off the fingers. Once again, not necessarily advocating this.
I know I'm leaving a lot out of the big picture, but it's 1:30 am.

the rock is of the hardest type
the rock is dashed about in the tumbler of life
bits of aggregate material break off
at some point all hardness is made smooth

love is also the boulder of the burden of past relationships
that poised atop a mountaintop
is loosed and begins to roll down and
makes it's way to your stony heart
and unable to move you are crushed by the boulder
a small pebble remains amidst the rubble
that which remains after being crushed by the boulders of life
this is true and this
this is love

Aye