A few months ago, immediately after my split with J, I was out with a friend and asked her… “Where does the love go?”.
See, when my marriage ended, it had been over for so long and there was so much trauma at the end: it felt like a relief. There is some part of me that will always care about my ex husband (we spent almost 13 years together after all) but that care is frozen in a moment in time. It is tied around our shared experiences.
With J we met. We fell in love. We spent just over a year together. We loved and liked each other a lot. He was a good friend. He became the person I wanted to call at the end of the day, the person I wanted to curl up with each night.
It didn’t work out and, sadly, that’s the way these things go.
But where does the love go? What happens to it?
To me it is like a physical thing, it is something that exists. So when this ended I couldn’t help but wonder – where the fuck does it go?
My friend had this wise summary: “It’s like a glass of water with colour added. It permeates everything. And then when you love again another colour is added and it changes…”
(Warning – shit’s about to get real)…
“…until, eventually, you are left with a cup of murky brown sludge.”
The first part of this theory was beautiful, the second, not so much.
But I also think her theory is true.
Love doesn’t just go away. Maybe it freezes in time. It definitely changes the colour of the water in the glass. Hopefully the colour becomes beautiful, deeper, more interesting. Hopefully you can avoid the sludge.
How many loves before you are left with sludge? One? Two? Five?
I have always loved easily.
But as I get older, as I experience more, I wonder how does one risk it again and again?