I'm reading "Man's Search for Meaning" by Viktor Frankl, a man who survived Auschwitz. Here is an excerpt from his book:

A thought transfixed me: for the first time in my life I saw the truth as it is set into song by so many poets, proclaimed as the final wisdom of so many thinkers. The truth - that love is the ultimate and the highest goal to which man can aspire. Then I grasped the meaning of the greatest secret that human poetry and human thought and belief have to impart: the salvation of man is through love and in love. I understood how a man who has nothing left in this world still may know bliss, be it only for a brief moment, in the contemplation of his beloved.

Love goes very far beyond the physical person of the beloved. It finds its deepest meaning in his spiritual being, his inner self.

This excerpt is taken from Viktor Frankl's book on how he survived the horrors of a concentration camp. In the most terrible moments, when he was whipped and beaten by the guards, he imagined his wife, and the thought of her kept him alive through all these brutal moments.

Unfortunately, in my 21 years of life, I have never experienced this. Is valid to be frustrated by this?