Love Without Possession

Originally written as a private letter, now as a reflection on love and detachment. I hope you can take something good from this work, even if only for a brief moment.

I deeply believe in you. You are intelligent with a strong perception, and I have no doubt that you are capable of achieving all your goals and dreams.

You should know that I truly love you. I think it is important to define what I mean by “love” because that word has been contorted and damaged by societal norms.

You often see in media the type of love where a character says something like “I can’t imagine my life without you” or “with you I feel whole”. This love derives from fear and a feeling of somehow being an incomplete soul.

I reject that idea.

True love is, for me, to recognize just how short our time on this planet is. And thus, true love is to reject the undertones of fear, self-abandonment, and selfishness when we love one another.

Knowing that our time on this planet is incredibly short (but I would say it is plenty long–we just don’t spend each day meaningfully), all I truly want for you is this:

I want you to dance in the sun.

I want you to find a partner who could love you with more openness than I ever could.

I want you to navigate this tumultuous life through sorrows and joy with a quiet, flaming, internal strength.

I want you to achieve your goals and dreams.

To find a sense of community.

To feel your soul rooted and feel seen and appreciated by those around you.

I want you to be physically, emotionally, and spiritually healthy, so that you can navigate anything life throws at you.

I want you to feel rooted to this world. I can’t imagine something more important than this for the soul: to be attuned to the earth beneath your feet, and to feel a sense of wonder in the simple things.

I want you to sleep in the arms of someone whose love is gentle, spacious, and more open than I ever knew how to give.

I want you to wake to gentle mornings with rain tapping on the windows and warm dogs at your feet.

I want you to cherish your time with family and the memories you create before they are gone.

That is only a fraction of what I ache for you to have.

There are many unwritten things I wish for you, but I know you will reach them–because you are internally strong.

Knowing all of this: why can’t you wish the same for me?

If you had broken up with me, I would have been happy for you. Yes, I might have cried for a few days, but I would have been excited–because it would have meant that you were stepping into alignment with your own truth. Because you would be moving toward a more holistic joy and a deeper reconnection with yourself.

What matters most is recognizing what we can and cannot control. I do not control you. Therefore, you were never mine. So, why would I mourn the loss of something that was never truly mine?

My fear, my insecurity, my selfishness–they do not matter compared to your movement toward a freer life.

I do not hold anger or ill will. Just gratitude for the multitude of beautiful moments we shared. I simply want you to thrive.

But there were moments that revealed the ways we were not aligned–morally, emotionally, and spiritually. Moments that made me feel unsafe. And though I understand the desire for closure, I had to leave in the way that honored my safety and integrity. That was an act of protection.

I won’t revisit the words or events that followed. Only this: when love is rooted in fear, guilt, and manipulation, it is no longer love. And that is why I stepped away.

Again, I do not write this to hurt you. I write this as a final act of clarity. This is the last message I will share. Please do not contact me again.

I do not ask for anything–not even understanding. I only ask that you release me. Let me walk in peace, as I wish the same for you.

If you are ever called to seek clarity, the writings of Epictetus, Marcus Aurelius, and especially Seneca helped me. I also found comfort in Simone Weil’s Gravity and Grace, and Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning.

I want you to achieve everything you’ve dreamed of, and I believe that you can.

You are already whole, even if it doesn’t feel that way yet.

You were loved. Deeply. Freely. Without possession.

And you still are.