While we may at least theoretically have some say over whom and how many we love, we have absolutely no control over who loves us. You may well wish someone in particular would make you the object of their affection—show yourself to be worthy, deserving, attractive enough to merit favored status, and of course you are. In fact, it would take a fool to overlook your many obvious qualities.
The thing is, there is no shortage of fools. It takes many, many years to finally come to realize that who and how many decide to love you has nothing at all to do with your worth. The learning curve is steep, and one pays perhaps too great a price in extinguishing the need for love to come from any particular source, which is always easier said than done.
But people do break addictions. They clutch the sides of their beds in hot and cold shivers, crying out for help from the depths of despair. And just when all seems lost, comes a glimmer of light bearing the obvious truth. Failed love does indeed burn—but it burns away only that which was never really yours.
I would expect at the end of the transmutation to be resigned, complacent. Some call this suffering but it is also ecstasy. For in the end, what remains is both fierce and glorious.
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