Don’t get me wrong. I am all for love. I live for love. I used to consider it the single most splendid reason to be alive. I have been known to plunge into it deeply, passionately, voluptuously. I have delved into its mystique. And I have given up an enormous amount of myself for love (not just the romantic type, either), barely stopping short of complete self-annihilation.
But there is a time for love, and there is a time for LIFE, people.
Love is a gigantic part of life, the most beautiful, enthralling part, because it creates life in its turn. It enhances and it multiplies life. When a love story goes sour, by all means try to fix it. Try to rekindle the flame – not only of passion, but first and foremost of trust, empathy, tenderness, friendship. But when love dies, DO NOT die with it. It takes two to tango. You can’t fix it all on your own, and once it gets past the point of no repair, don’t waste too much time mourning the faded beauty of what once was, or what once might have been. Don’t get caught up in its dead past. Don’t be trapped by its morbid fake future. Don’t become a victim of unbreakable habits and false pretenses. Why invite daily humiliation? It will destroy your spirit.
All that glitters is not gold, they say, and one butterfly in the stomach does not a soulmate make. Don’t let your love ensnare you, imprison you, incarcerate you. There is plenty more out there that’s authentic and energizing. For instance, the promise of another love (…just to keep you and chubby little Eros going, you junkie 🙂 ).
So you loved and lost, where is the disaster? Quite often it can be a beneficial step forward, a long overdue measure of personal hygiene. You can sulk and become your worst enemy, or you can move on and be your own best friend. Dwell in your sorrow just long enough to heal and learn from your mistakes, but not a minute longer. Remember you were born free. You were born free, and meaningful, and worthy of beauty. You are a materialized state of grace, not a doormat, not an accessoire. Don’t allow unreciprocated love to suck you in like a quagmire that drags you back down everytime you come up for air until you drown – one big mummified corpse fatally entangled in slimy submarine roots, stinky algae, and venomous nettle fish.
There is LIFE after love. So live and let die. Love and let go.
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