In September 1937, Arendt will write to her Rabbit (Heinrich Blücher, her future second husband, whose meeting determined her divorce and consequently the loss of German citizenship "and let the whole world fly to Tartarus", the couple lived together for thirty years, it is believed that it was Heinrich who helped Hannah form her understanding of totalitarianism and Marxism): 

"... I always knew, even as a girl, that only in love can I truly exist. That is why I was so afraid of just losing myself in it. That's why I cherished my independence so much. As for the love of others, who declared me cold, I always thought: if only you knew how dangerous it is, especially for me. And when I met you, I stopped being afraid. I still find it hard to believe that I received both "great love" and self-identification. And they are inextricably linked with each other." 

Private happiness of lovers as the last bastion of resistance against society, which is threatened by total unification. In a world where everything must have its understandable place, definition, convenient relations, and suffering is permissible only in a session with a therapist, to process and become complete. For Arendt, the question of whether love is possible, which allows another to fully enter one's being and at the same time does not destroy oneself or force one to defend remains unresolved. 

However, in the experience of cohabitation with a beloved, she finds supports, previously inaccessible. For me, it seems and lives as movement between another pair of existential tensions in the relationship autonomy-dependence. In therapeutic practice (and life), I observe how the first sounds like a guarantee to protect oneself from pain in connection with another. The second - a curse. Both in their extremes are condemnable, inconvenient, and sound like diagnoses. The desire of the modern lover is to find themselves somewhere in the middle, gaining the ability to manage their mood, and preferably life (if lucky, even others), it itself generates excess tension. And again promises a clash with the impossibility of obtaining the desired.

One can reflect on what it means to love, and why exactly this someone happens to be close, beloved, important. For me, it is irrelevant who and where integrates their fantasies about the other, because understanding does not free the lover from staying in feelings. They exist, and that's all there is to it. Inconvenient, spontaneous, asserting their rights. In some sense, the lover is simultaneously immortal and powerless. Autonomous and dependent. To live this is to swim, from time to time approaching one of the shores, without the ability to remain stationary.

In one of her letters, Arendt wrote to Heinrich:

"Let's try—for the sake of our love." Not for the sake of some other love. Not even for the love of God. Only for the sake of us, our happiness, and our position in this world, and above all for the typical fearlessness of love in the face of its mortality.