Love is found everywhere in the text of Giorgio Agamben. We should neither confuse nor conflate ‘love’ with either desire or any erotism, as I shall go on to explain. Separating what is already other than these clinical and classical terms, love must be maintained as other to them. Neither synonymous nor supplementary, love remains in Agamben as that for which we will have to account in a language that, though indirect, must keep itself separate from the philosopher's economy. More than merely ‘found’, as if it were encountered, scattered like the wind-blown detritus of hastily ripped apart love letters, love places itself in one's way. The subject in reading is interrupted by love, as if it arrived to call the reader, to become the beloved, ‘in the spirit of a pseudo-Platonic letter’. It appears momentarily, here and there, disposing of its traces, in between one subject and another, or as the visible manifestation for the reader, the ‘illumination’ of and for a subject otherwise remaining unrepresentable. Hardly a subject at all, except in the example of one essay, ‘The Passion of Facticity’, which perversely and ingeniously speaks to the trace of love precisely at those places where it is found only in absentia, love remains, nonetheless – and as a trope, a topos, a souvenir.