It is the kind of love poets struggle to capture, a love that ignites the soul and leaves it gasping for air. It is longing and connection, ecstasy and devastation. It is a love that consumes—effervescent, inescapable, almost invasive.
And then, one day, it happens to you. A serendipitous connection that renders all else meaningless. The world dissolves, and nothing exists beyond this one soul—the one who was always meant to find you. Your Twin Flame.
“If I could be splayed open, bare and receptive, waiting for you to meld into me… that would be my wish.”
But there is no melding, no merging, no completion, only the unbearable ache of separation. The exquisite, delicious suffering of wanting but never having.
The years wear on as each subsequent encounter with your ‘twin’ remains just as intoxicating, just as torturous. That incredible longing and hope never fades.
Whatever made you think this is what real love feels like?
Your mind’s eye notices, “he never turns to face me, as if I’m always speaking to the back of his head”. A small, sharp insight takes hold.
Yet still, the question lingers. What does it all mean? Friends offer their own interpretations, psychics murmur of past lives, and God remains silent. Embarrassed by your need, one friend speaks out: “I will listen, until you have spoken enough to hear yourself.” I think that is love.
Then, one night, the emotional pain becomes too heavy to bear. The cycle must end. On your warm, familiar bed—soft and safe—you curl into yourself, fetal, shattered and spent, and whisper into the darkness, “When was the first time I felt this? This ache, this longing, this loneliness?”
And the darkness answers.
As children, we create our prince and princess out of the void left by absent dads and unfulfilled moms. We dream these fantasies into existence, weaving them from the tattered edges of our unmet needs, sculpting them from the emptiness we don’t yet understand.
A vision forms, stark and undeniable. The beloved, walking away—unmoved, unaffected, unaware of your silent plea for recognition, for acceptance, for love.
It was never him. It was never any of them.
It was a little girl, standing in the shadow of a mother whose love came in cold demands and sharp-edged expectations. A little girl who reached for warmth and found only distance.
Searching for it elsewhere…over and over again…each encounter more intense than the last, until the pain was so great there was no other choice than to find relief with deep introspection and personal honesty.
A lifetime spent mistaking longing for love.
A decade lost in unraveling a single truth.
Twin flames, if they exist at all, are a once in a blue moon event. Sorry to disappoint.
For most, the Twin Flame isn’t destiny, it’s a Trauma Bond.
We chase that connection as if our survival depends on it, as if the only way to be whole is to merge with this other. But it must be seen for what it is. That undeniable, magnetic pull was not meant to break you, but to wake you.
It was never about the other person. It was one more painful, necessary chance to uncover the truth, to finally see the wound that has been quietly shaping every choice, every longing, every ache.
You may be initially shattered by this revelation. Yet, somewhere in your depth, when you finally reach your truth, you’ll feel profound relief.
Only then can you be open to love that was never meant to hurt.
