Queries to Kafka

 "Everything you love will probably be lost, but in the end, love will return in another way." - Kafka

...and the question strikes me, What if we love things which can never die? Can we truly love something if it can never die? Why is it when one dies, it seems that our grief is an explosion of both sorrow and love. Why was that feeling of love not so intense before? Or was it still the same intensity, just now, without a place to flow?