Once you love someone, can you ever really un-love them? Once you truly feel love, what happens to it? Does love spontaneously combust? Or does it stay there, missing you, waiting patiently for the moment you’re ready to be loved again, if ever?
The other day I visited my father, he was renovating my grandmothers house, I met him in a dusty kitchen while he was patching up the wall behind the fridge. I made us coffee while he took a break and we laughed about silly things.
While sipping my coffee I noticed something: a tile.
A tile that was hidden underneath the fridge, exposed only by the fact that the wall behind it needed work. The glazed mustard, geometric patterned tile poking out underneath the wooden floorboards, a thousand memories flooding back in my mind. That tile, circa 1973, was installed when my grandparents built the house, the tile had seen three refurbishments, and yet, there it was, still there, waiting.
Is that what happens to the ended love? Does it sit there, hidden, until the day we move something and its memory floods us?
After leaving I went on my weekly walk on the bay, I’ve been doing it every Sunday for the last 6 years. Along the way, I started ripping up the floorboards of my love life, each step reminding me of the men I had walked this path with, all the lovers that had come with me on this run. I counted seven men. On this bay I experienced four first kisses, several tears, and one breakup. This was my walk, but each pit stop ripped off another floorboard, exposing another tile, another part of my ended love.
I think that love is energy, and energy is never created and therefore can never be destroyed. We have love, and we attribute it to people, just like the tile exists, but isn’t part of the floor until it’s place in a house. Once we attribute the love, we never really get it back, but what’s the point in having it if we don’t use it?