Can You Ever Stop Loving Someone After a Relationship is Over? No.

If your love was real, you never stop loving them.

If the other person ever meant anything to you, you always will feel something for them. Even if it ended bitterly, there will be a residue of feelings. That’s just how love works.

As much as I wish my heart had an on/off switch and I could just go on with my life, ending loving feelings for someone has never been that easy. It is like a funeral “In loving memory of…..” because in the end it’s just the memories of both the good and the bad that stays long after the love is gone. Emotions are complex, when a relationship ends there is an undefined part of you that stays with that person no matter what. Perhaps because at one point in your life he/she is what makes you WHOLE.

But put quite simply, the person you loved, (still love?) doesn’t really exist anymore except inside your head and your heart. What we truly mean when we say, “I still love Him/Her” is that we love OUR MEMORY of that person and that love.

No Two People Are “Meant” To Be Together!

This is BS and a fairy tale!

Of all the relationships I have been in, there have been three that lasted over at least 2 years. In all three relationships, I felt something special with them, respectively. I mean, obviously, because if you spend that much time with somebody, it’s evident that you have a connection or else you would have never spent all that time with them in the first place.

In all three of the relationships I mentioned, I felt like (at one point or another) a future was ensured. I really hurt one of the guys and I’ve really regretted doing it ever since, because he was a great catch and has went on to do amazing things in his life (I have him added on Facebook). I made some bad choices based on trying to make another person in my life happy and trying to acquire their approval so much so that I sacrificed my relationship with him in the process. My relationship with him was virtually perfect and flawless before I messed things up. I believe he and I could have had an incredible life together.

Things just didn’t work out with the two other guys, but they were great, too. I will always have a love for all three of them, because like I just said, if you spend that much time with somebody and share a love that lasts that long, you will feel it in you forever.

However, I don’t believe in this idea that two people are simply “meant” to be together!

I could say that about all three of the guys I just mentioned, especially the one I hurt!

That fable assumes our fate is predestined, which is BS! Any decision we make, anywhere, before a given situation develops can completely alter that situation as can any decision another person makes or any development we react to.

Pseudo-Poetic

For Ben

The ungloved parts of my hands are cold.
The adventure playground clings to Tarmac;
it is dark. We can’t see the tips of our toes as we swing.
You have too many fingers for the monkey bars.

Fifteen minutes ago.
Past the middle-class postage-stamp estate which holds most of us.
Our friends chase the coloured blooms back
to the chemicals that made them.
You say it’s poetic.
I like the way the ash lingers;
the way the grass flames like a city under siege.

A child as high as our empty hands
stands, cupping each explosion with the o of his mouth.
To him, they are still just fireworks.

Who’s idea was the park?
We, old enough to know that skin
sticks to slide; perhaps we have exams tomorrow.
The LED screams of your phone screen find no listeners in this blackness.
Gaudy primary colours, chipped,
revealing rusty bars.

The horizon is a mauve bruise
behind the red metal fence.

We would annotate those fireworks.
Stack them into equations;
solve them so that they explode
with no remainders.

A gold plume ruptures the night.
Forks into paths like a bird’s foot.
It is your metaphor for how we will leave,
separate, carving lives through the clouds.

It’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.
But look, you say,
how they sparkle when they leave.

Breath

I like smoking at parties now

My fingers are dusty with ink
from packing sentences into paragraph packing crates
so I can leave out of the front door one day;

You are telling me you’ve found a new way to kill you.

You shared a lighter with the boy
who put me out with tepid water,
who would have kept my bones as keepsakes.
His lips, your lungs,
my wings.

I have passed from breath to breath
until I was ash caught in the mercy of the wind.
I am not smoke. I fly free from his lips and your lungs.

Smoke your cigarettes.