Is there a difference between love and lust?

I have always wondered what the difference was between love and lust.
I mean, I was in love once...a long time ago.
For four years I was in bliss. Breakfast tasted good. I liked my clothes. I actually enjoyed the presence of other people. Then it went all to shit. We broke up, he went on to fuck in bathhouses and public parks and I went fucking insane. For ten years I traveled the world, meeting new faces, new cultures and you know I don't think I ever really recovered.
At first, especially during my time in Tijuana, Mexico, I degenerated into a sex junky. I would fuck anything and everything.
And then the drugs kicked in. Snorting meth, that wonderful habitual booger sugar, made things whirl at an even faster pace. And yet, I never seemed to find love.
Not like I had.
For a while, I worked at a twenty-four-hour porno theater by a navy base and I sunk down into my cockjunkie phase. I was sick in mind and body. And still, after all those nameless assholes, I still felt no love. Or at least it had eluded me. After seeing my grey-hazed friends die or become incarcerated, I hit the road.
El Paso, Texas. Norfolk, Nebraska. New York. New Orleans...Puerto Rico…Brazil…Peru. Where are they? Where are the ones that are meant for you? I continued to search all the way back to the dirty town of Tijuana and I stopped. I have thought about just waiting. And instead of looking for love, I will wait for it.
 
Two years later and I'm still waiting.