if it was true love, you’d not fall out of it

I’ve heard this idea so many times — this notion that true love is eternal, that it’s immune to time, circumstance, or change. “If it was true love, you’d never fall out of it.” And honestly, it’s such a compelling, poetic idea, isn’t it? Who doesn’t want to believe in that kind of love? A love that transcends pain, imperfection, and the inevitability of growth — like some divine force that builds its throne in your heart and rules forever. But if I’m being honest, I’m not sure it’s that simple — it’s not just black and white like that.

I think part of this belief is connected to our deeply human craving for permanence. We don’t want to imagine something as potent and beautiful as love ever going away. But life is chaos — it’s entropy, it’s aging bodies, shifting minds, and fractured dreams. For someone to stay in love exactly as they were on day one? It feels unnatural because everything around us is in a constant state of flux. Plato wrote in his Symposium that love is the pursuit of beauty and the divine, but he also argued that love itself transforms over time; it doesn’t freeze in place. You move from loving one beautiful body to loving all beautiful things, and finally, to loving wisdom and the divine itself. Is that falling out of love, or is it love evolving?

Take literature. In Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra, the characters are madly in love, but it burns so uncontrollably that destruction follows. Cleopatra essentially says, “Eternity was in our lips and eyes,” as if acknowledging that love can feel eternal yet still be transient. Does the ending of their story diminish the intensity of their love? I don’t think so. Love can be true and still end — it doesn’t mean it was insincere.

Even spiritually — we hear phrases like, “Love never fails,” from the Bible (1 Corinthians 13:8). But what does that really mean? The love Paul describes isn’t this shallow, romantic obsession; it’s the intense, pure, self-sacrificial love that reflects God’s nature. God’s love is constant. Our love? Our human version of it falters because we’re imperfect. Maybe true love is supposed to be godlike — pure, unselfish — but we can’t fully reach that state. So when we fall out of love, does that mean it wasn’t real? Or does it just mean we couldn’t hold onto something divine in a flawed world?

I wonder if the entire concept of “falling out of love” comes down to us confusing “true love” with terms we’ve romanticized. Maybe what people describe as falling out of love is just when the spark fizzles or when the emotional high ends, but the deeper love — that sense of care and value for someone — doesn’t disappear completely. I read once that the poet Rainer Maria Rilke believed love should be two “solitudes that border, protect, and greet each other.” He’s emphasizing this idea that true love transcends dependency; it’s grounding and liberating at the same time. If we cling to dependency and call it love, it’s that — that smaller, insecure attachment — that fades.

But here’s the thing: Love doesn’t just happen; it’s not just a feeling — it’s also a choice. I think a lot of people mistake the euphoria of the initial stages of love for this unshakable thing that’ll last forever on its own. But love requires effort. It’s not static because we’re not static. It takes work and attention — an acknowledgment that people change, and sometimes they grow together, but other times they grow in opposite directions. Can you truly say someone didn’t love you because you both grew into versions of yourselves that weren’t compatible anymore? Or does that just mean life happened in the unpredictable way it always does?

Here’s something I keep coming back to — Khalil Gibran wrote in The Prophet, “Let there be spaces in your togetherness, and let the winds of the heavens dance between you. Love one another, but make not a bond of love.” It’s such a powerful idea. True love, to me, doesn’t chain you down. It isn’t about ownership or guarantees. It’s about experiencing a moment that’s so authentic and beautiful it changes you forever. And even if it doesn’t last forever in the conventional sense, it leaves its imprint on your soul. You never really “fall out of it” because it shaped you — it became a part of who you are.

Look at history. Abelard and Heloise — one of the most famous tragic love stories. Their love was undeniably “true,” intense, and all-consuming, but circumstances tore them apart. Did they “fall out” of love because their circumstances changed? I doubt it. Heloise writes in her letters that even as years passed and they lived separate lives, her love for him persisted. But it transformed. It wasn’t passion anymore — it became something quiet, almost reverent. Are we defining true love too narrowly if we assume it always looks like the rush we feel at the beginning?

Even in my own life, I’ve wondered this. I’ve loved people wholeheartedly — relationships that I felt were it, like they could last forever. When they ended, did it mean that love was lesser or untrue? At first, I thought so. I’d tell myself, “If you fell out of love, it must’ve been fake.” But over time, I’ve realized that the love didn’t just evaporate — it changed shape. It wasn’t as sharp or consuming, but it left me with gratitude, growth, and still a sense of care for that person. Sometimes, true love exists in what someone teaches or gives you, not in how long they stay by your side.

But to loop back — can someone truly never fall out of love if it’s real? Maybe we misunderstand falling out of love. Maybe it doesn’t mean un-loving someone but moving from one form of love to another. Classical thinkers like Aristotle talked about love as a philia — a love that’s grounded in respect and mutual pursuit of the good. That’s the kind of love that doesn’t wither, even if romance fades. Maybe true love is bigger than the romantic fantasy we’ve been sold; maybe it’s the way a person’s presence lingers inside your soul, echoing in your thoughts even after they’re gone.

So, no — I don’t think falling out of love necessarily means the love wasn’t true. I think love can be true and still break under the weight of life. And sometimes, the truest love isn’t the one that lasts forever in the way we imagine. Instead, it’s the one that shapes us, that leaves us different than how it found us, that pushes us toward something bigger — whether it’s growth, beauty, wisdom, or even God.