This is a unique problem, with a variety of solutions.  There's a song that tells us the way to measure a year is in love, yet no way to measure love is ever given, thus we must embark upon a quest to find not only how to measure time, but also love.

The first measurement system for the immeasurable is through the fairly simple method of vague guesstimation. For example, a child may run up with his arms spread wide and say, "I love you this much!" A friend or family member might say, "Love you lots!" We hear comparisons to try and establish the great amounts of feeling, like "I miss you more than the sun misses the flower in the winter," or, "I love you more than time itself." What we must realize is that measurments are unnecessary.

How can one quantify love? It is impossible, and even if you could, why would you? To line up the people you love in order of most to least? What we must come to terms with is that measurements are not natural of the heart, they are a trick of the mind, and unnecessary in feeling. Love someone. Show compassion. Have genuine gratitude. These are all important things, and counting amounts is just a frivolous waste of time.

The best way to quantify the immeasurable is simple, though; measure by what's missing. The idea behind this is not to feel empty, it's quite the opposite; the objective at hand is to realize a short coming and correct it. "I love you, but is it with all of my heart?" If the answer is no, find out why. "Have I been compassionate enough to others?" If the answer is anything but "absolutely, there's no way I haven't," then change yourself until the answer is unquestionable. "Did I tell them how much they mean to me?" Do it again. "Am I thankful enough?" Show your gratitude by living, return kindness always, favors whenever possible, and hatefulness never. Quantify the uncountable by filling your heart to its fullest, and knowing that there is no emptiness which needs to be measured.

May the fullest of your past be the most empty of the future,
Centri

Why is it that a tie
Broken is such a crisis
That a man
Will break all in his hands
To catch the frayed end
As it snaps apart
From its twin
And exert far more effort
In bringing back that fractured piece
Than he would ever
Consider putting forth
In simply connecting a new tie?
Is it such that there is
No room for replacement,
Only maintenance--as frivolous
A gesture as that stands--
Of the old, worn out pieces
That care for their handyman
Only as much
As a minnow cares for the bass?
What turns we take
In playing the role.
What a role it is.

Shall we dance the waltz
Of which our lives run?
The dream closing, the music
Of our sighs will be
Plenty enough to keep
Tempo streaming for
"A forseeable time,"
So relax, and sway
To the beat with me
Because the rythm
Shant die out any time soon.

Worry not, love, I state
No fault or failure of you
Exceeding my own pile
And the rotting, stinking mess--
So vulgar, repulsive,
And yet constant--
Has no voice to betray this;
The secret is safe,
Though there is
No whisper, tale, or fact unknown
That may lay hidden
Beneath the garbage.
Just pull me in by the hip
A little tighter.
I'll dig my claws into your shoulder.
Off we go for another round
By another name,
But the same sound,
That will continually repeat
That same sold beat
We set in our breasts,
In pulse and breaths,
And prove that in time,
Without word or rhyme,
All bleeding stops eventually.

The resounding words
Of my singsong sage
Replay themselves
Like the cries of a crow
Who, though alone by nature,
Needs to prove to the world,
Time and again,
That he stands watch--
All knowing and all seeing.
He screams to the world
He is one, perhaps to prove
To himself that he doesn't
Need anyone, though he must
Scarcely believe it or
This thought might stay
Without caw of proof.

Prudent words spoke--
To we wee simple folk--
Tell us to move
In a vain hope to soothe
The self-imposed stabs--
That seem to not scab--
Which wrongly they
Do also so pay
A tribute of self
To doubt's commonwealth,
"All bleeding stops eventually.
One way or another,
All bleeding stops eventually."

Aye, I await the Green
In the morning
As the sun robs the chill from my skin.
This warrior rising
Disturbs that which finds same
In the name
Which has hidden behind it
The secrets well known by
Him who slumbers well.
Night's embrace brings
This same Green to the Page
Who sneaks behind the backs
Of masters too blind to know
What a heart might want.
This follower seeks nothing
Yet is expected to choose course.
Ah! Green must lead yet stay.
And cruelty refuse hospitality,
And whim breed standard,
The afternoon mourns for the Green.
These three made four by my want,
There is an entanglement.
And so I wait
Unlike those possessers,
For the Green.
Because I know that Green
Stands most beautifully blue
Between shades nigh closed.
Alas, I shall remain
In this place where I watch
For that morning, noon, and night Green
Which beckons my haste
Yet calls for consideration
All things in due time.
Aye, I await the Green
Which forever may my captain be,
For flight not fight not
The Green remains.
Even as fire rages
The Green keeps my bed
And makes it out sweetly,
Lay place for this head.