Part and parcel of the infinity of love—which names its punctual intensity, not its temporal extension—is that the loving subject is not immortal = finite. The finitude of its life gives meaning to the infinity of love. I love, I die: this certainty can give rise to love, to the feeling of touching upon the limit of life = its infinity. The ontological dimension of love resides in the problematic X, which marks the status of the subject as intractable, its incommensurability. We ought not to presume that it has any sort of sublime meaning; it is nothing but the reverse of the subject’s reality, which interferes with the real in problematic fashion.