The Myth of Forever: Why Our Obsession with Ownership Is Destroying Love

We are a generation obsessed with ownership. Not just of land, cars, or the trinkets we polish and parade—but of each other. Somewhere along the way, love stopped being a journey and became a prize. Commitment turned into a contract, and relationships became little more than cages dressed up in romance.

We say “you are mine” as if another human soul could ever truly belong to us. That language betrays us. It reveals the hunger at the heart of our culture—the desire not just to be loved but to possess, to secure, to guarantee. Yet love was never meant to be locked in a box. Love is not a deed you file in some cosmic office. It is a living, breathing thing. And like anything alive, it grows, it shifts, it sometimes dies.

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Sex and Love: Two Different Fires

The first confusion we make is between sex and love. Sex is primal, a need like water or sleep. It is immediate, consuming, electric. Love, though—real love—is rare. Love is slower, quieter, more demanding. You can fall into sex in the dark of a single night, but love takes time, attention, sacrifice.

Yet how often do we mistake one for the other? Two people meet, their bodies spark, and in the heat of that fire they believe they’ve found love. But when the passion cools, the illusion cracks. They discover they built their castle on sand. I’ve seen this play out countless times: couples who rushed to the altar because desire felt like destiny, only to find themselves strangers beneath the same roof. That mistake alone explains why so many marriages crumble before the ink on the certificate is dry.

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The Trap of Ownership

Then comes the ownership trap. Once we decide we love, we immediately try to secure it forever. We expect permanence from something that, by nature, is fluid. We rearrange our entire existence around another person, forgetting that both of us are still changing. Who you were at twenty-five will not be who you are at forty-five. Needs evolve. Desires shift. Dreams bend into different shapes.

So how can we demand that two changing people promise to stay the same? It is like planting a seed and then getting angry that it dared to grow into a tree instead of staying a sprout. Yet we do this every day in relationships. We try to freeze love in time. We pretend forever is a guarantee when it is nothing more than a wish whispered into the wind.

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The Weight of Expectation

And when forever fails us, the damage is heavy. The divorce courts overflow. Families split and scar. The mental toll is immense—anxiety, depression, jealousy, fear of abandonment. People who thought love would save them discover it only magnified their emptiness. The problem is not love itself but the expectations we pile onto it.

We demand too much of one thing. It is like drinking only water and expecting never to hunger again. Love is beautiful, yes, but it cannot carry every burden of human existence. You need purpose. You need community. You need art, faith, work, and wonder. If all your eggs are in the love basket, life will eventually feel hollow, no matter how perfect your partner is.

I think of those who marry young, certain they have chosen wisely. Ten years later, one discovers a passion for travel, the other craves stability. One dreams of risk, the other of routine. Neither is wrong, but their roads diverge. And instead of honoring the change, we call it failure. We punish ourselves for being human, for daring to evolve.

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The Hollywood Lie

Part of this sickness is cultural. We were raised on fairy tales, on movies where love conquers all and happily-ever-after rolls across the screen. But those were stories, scripted illusions. Outside the cinema, reality doesn’t work that way.

Look at the very celebrities we idolize. Their relationships are splashed across magazines, the same magazines that announce their divorces months later. The same people teaching us how to love on screen cannot make it work off screen. That should tell us something. What we are chasing isn’t real—it’s performance.

And yet we still believe. We still measure our lives against the lie. No wonder we are disappointed. No wonder we feel empty.

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Love as a Journey, Not a Destination

Maybe the answer is simpler than we think. Maybe love is not meant to be owned. Maybe it is not a destination, a crown, or a final achievement. Maybe love is the road itself.

Some people come into our lives only for a season. Some arrive to teach us a lesson, to push us toward growth. Others may stay longer, and that is a gift, but not a guarantee. When we stop demanding permanence, we begin to see love differently. A brief love can be just as profound as a lifelong one. A failed marriage can teach more than a golden anniversary.

The truth is, forever is not the point. Presence is. The willingness to show up fully, to give wholeheartedly, even knowing tomorrow might shift everything—that is commitment. That is love in its truest form.

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Closing Reflections

So maybe it is time to let go of the myth of ownership. Maybe it is time to love without clinging, to honor the present without worshiping forever. If we could do that, perhaps we would stop breaking ourselves against expectations no human can meet.

A partner should be a complement, not a cage. They should walk beside you, not define you. And if one day the roads split, it does not mean you failed. It means the journey continues.

We are not here to own love. We are here to experience it. To grow through it. To let it shape us while it lasts, and to release it gracefully when it changes form.

Forever may be an illusion, but right now—that is real. And maybe that’s enough.

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✨ Question for readers: Do you think letting go of “forever” would free us—or do you believe love loses its meaning without permanence?