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One of those moments when you realize "it really is over" is when you find out that love doesn't exist. It is entirely a biological mechanism, idealized and form of self delusion that there is some higher purpose or meaning to our experience. In reality when you die, your spouse forgets about you and jumps on another dick to satisfy her primal urges. It is one of the most intense motivators for you to continue to wade through endless shit this reality throws at you, but once you break that illusion, it will really become clear how much this life doesn't matter. It is sad initially because it is a huge disappointment, you had great expectations and its probably one of many disappointments you experienced but after some time that sadness will become anhedonia.
