When Love Stopped Being Personal

(A continuation from “The Illusion of Relationships”)

Yesterday, I wrote about the unraveling of identity within relationships how we play roles, cling to connection, and suffer inside the illusions we unknowingly created.

But I had no idea that sharing those words would open the door to something even deeper.

It started with a simple thought the mind offered me in the early hours of the morning:

“We have cracks in our foundation.”

For a moment, I felt the familiar pull wanting to say something, to confront, to make meaning of “us.” But instead of reacting, I paused.

Presence arose. A quiet breath. And with it, this question:

“What even is this thought?”

And in that moment, the spiral stopped.

The entire construct collapsed not with pain, but with clarity.

Because I saw that there was no fixed “us.” Just two beings. Two forms. And something far deeper holding it all.

From there, something extraordinary opened.

I am love. Not because of what he does or doesn’t do.

Not because he meets me or doesn’t meet me.

I just am. And so I love from that place.

Not from the role of Kate. Not from girlfriend, partner, seeker of validation.

But from consciousness itself.

And in that clarity, I saw something even more radical:

He’s not a mirror of my love, he’s a mirror of contrast.

He doesn’t reflect my presence back to me.

He reflects the absence of presence.

And even that is sacred.

Because in the absence, I saw fully how presence remains.

How I no longer needed him to change in order to feel whole.

His unconsciousness mirrored my awakening.

This dance we’ve done over and over again was never a failure.

It’s been the vehicle for awareness.

Each reunion, each rupture, each confusing twist, has brought more clarity.

More stillness.

More truth.

And now I see:

The relationship didn’t fail. It served. It didn’t fall apart. It completed its task.

It revealed where love was never lost, just buried under roles and stories.

There’s still love here. Of course there is.

But it’s not clinging.

It’s not directional.

It’s not conditional.

It's not what minds perceive as love.

It’s love that exists without needing to land.

Love that is simply what I am.

And the most surprising thing?

I’m not afraid of where this goes anymore.

Whether he wakes up or doesn’t.

Whether we continue or complete.

Whether we dance again or bow in parting.

Because I’m no longer waiting for him to meet me (that was a delusion).

Not that he can’t, but the idea that he should that was a mental concept.

Meet me? Who? Kate?

There is no Kate to meet.

I’ve met myself, essence. Consciousness.

And from that place, love flows.

Even towards him. Especially towards him.

Not because I need to be chosen.

But because, in truth, we are the same awareness wearing different shapes and one of those shapes helped me remember.

How profound and beautiful - the love I feel toward the role he has played, perfectly overrides everything.

I’m not loving him as Kate anymore.

I’m loving him from presence.

Because he is presence too.

We are just consciousness, remembering itself through form.

And every role is falling away in love’s name.

Mind disclaimer:

To the mind, this may appear heartless. Cold. Detached.

That too is part of the unraveling.

Because the mind cannot feel it can only interpret what love should look like, based on roles, attachment, and memory.

But love isn’t found in performance or patterns.

Love is felt in being.

This is not the love the mind understands.

It’s the love that remains when the mind falls silent.

This isn’t written for or against anyone.

It’s not a letter. It’s not a message.

It’s simply what presence revealed a love that no longer needs to be returned,

because it already is.

Held. Known. Whole.