I am from Paris—a crazy, passionate Frenchman in love with love—so of course I am going to tell you a love story. Twelve years ago, a friend invited me to a rather unremarkable office building in New York City. It looked old and plain, but as I entered, a feeling of love and care moved my soul. I was smitten. No, not with my friend—but with the organization housed in the structure. The name of my new love? GMHC. I was HIV negative when we met; I was just joining my friend, who was positive and a GMHC client, for a dinner there. And, thanks to the agency, free opera tickets. Madame Butterfly! Delicious food and the opera … how could I resist? But as in many great affairs, I lost touch with the group … until, five years later, we were fated to meet again. This time, I came in need, addicted to crystal meth. I soon found out that I was positive, too. The agency had grown so much, Twelve stories now. Big and strong, it never let me down. We beat my addiction through tears, screaming, fighting. I hated it sometimes, like a lover hates a partner for saying what is best for him. I didn’t want to listen. But this partner stood by me, despite my dramas. Actually, I had a relationship with every floor: Case Management, for instance, took my hand and sat with me for hours in the city housing office to get me off the streets. And whether I was good or bad, my baby fed me a hot meal every day. But love, I soon realized, is giving and receiving. This wasn’t just about me anymore but about all of us, my brothers and sisters with HIV. So I volunteered in the kitchen, serving them lunch. Next I was elected co-chair of the client advisory board, and now I also offer acupuncture in the building. I don’t make any money. But I am richer than the richest in the world. I have something precious in my life, something called love.