With the exception of a few deeply unsatisfying flings, I’ve been single for the past 9 years.

I consider myself an expert at love, yet my track record suggests I’m a dismal failure. Where have I gone wrong?

The passionate connection I experienced with my daughter’s biological father lasted just long enough to bring her into this world, then the illusion faded.

There’s a man I’m ashamed to love, and I love him deeply. I understand his wounding. I wanted to patch him back together. Make him happy and whole. He claimed he wanted to break free from his unhappy marriage. He spoke of his wife’s bitchiness and stupidity with chilling contempt and later professed his undying love for her and assured me I meant NOTHING AT ALL to him.

That stung a little. Satan wins again.

Writing about it has been cathartic. It’s difficult to suffer the loss of a relationship you never really had. Or at least not in this lifetime. It’s like a phantom limb that exists only in the realm of spirit.

As an empath, I always knew how he felt, even when his words and actions suggested otherwise. When we met I saw everything etched on his face: surprise, recognition, relief, adoration. Ultimately all denied and dismissed as pure fantasy, but I know what I felt. What I saw.

As I worked on loosening his bindings, he constructed a mental prison around me. I escaped with the guidance and clarity of spirit. He remains imprisoned, in a distant galaxy.

Love is like a black hole, he told me. Measurable only through the impact it has on others.

My black hole destroyed and transformed me before forcefully ejecting me through a cosmic birthing process. Now I know who I am.

Thank you, Josh. I forgive you.