Who hasn't experienced that psychological mechanism of growing attached to an object through use? Even a comb, used long enough, becomes cherished—something you depend on and can't bear to part with when it breaks. Thus, the highest form of love isn't merely admiration; it's also about using something—using it boldly, using it with trust.
I once interviewed a loving couple. The young wife had a mild fear of driving, so she never learned. Yet she adored the way her husband handled the wheel—so cool and sexy. Sitting in the passenger seat, she'd gaze at his profile: sharp features, focused and calm, radiating security.then glancing out the window at the blurred, shifting, rich scenery...
She laughed as she admitted that what first drew her to her husband was his cool, handsome look behind the wheel.
Her husband, sitting beside her on the same sofa, listened, smiling and nodding frequently. He didn't feel this description of love, this motivation for affection, was insufficient, undignified, unorthodox, or lacking in romance."Being useful to her is the highest compliment I could receive!" he couldn't help but conclude, then pulled his wife closer. She chimed in playfully, "My husband is my best chauffeur!" Lovers crave the feeling of being needed. Otherwise, love becomes a mere ornament, devoid of fulfillment. The colder you treat the one you love, the more likely love will drift away.Only through use do we know love's worth. If even our beloved cannot be relied upon, what in this world can truly sustain us?
Many couples end up strangers precisely because they "rarely use" each other. Love is like a lock: unused for too long, even the original key may fail to open it.