Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds

It never seizes to amaze me just how the "irreplaceable" can become redundant and replaced in a flash!

This goes for so many differerent things, from a favorite piece of clothing, to a favorite handbag to the so called relationship or love of a person's life.

How often have I seen this movie in my head and how often has it played out in reality?
How often have even I fallen victim to this after having seen the movie in my head. Throwing out that favorite red handbag because the Gucci bag looked better, was more expensive and just seemed like the better option..... (pardon me I am being frivolously sarcastic here).

Makes me wonder, what is the use of it all and why do we get upset when that which we chose to replace the favorite thing of the moment with turns out to be "empty" as well? That is because the emptiness is within us and everything/everybody we try and fill it with will leave us unfulfilled.

The message we send ourselves in this instance is more destructive than any words any other human being could begin to utter.

So the next time before we decide to toss out an old perceived irreplaceable, do so for the right reasons, not because the "new" package offers a way out, a place to run to.......

We should fill our own gaps and needs as individuals. It starts with a realization that we are irreplaceable in our own lifes. Realize that and never put the responsibility for being irreplaceable on another human being. All you are doing is putting a burden on another, perhaps even creating co-depence but more importantly moving the focus of your own inadequacies and projecting that on somebody else.

Then and only then can you truly love without making it co-dependence and projection.

In the meanwhile, remember:-

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixéd mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose Worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom:
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.[1]

–William Shakespeare

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Sophia