Limerence Is Not Love: A Tender Letter for Anyone Still Reaching

Limerence is not love — it is the ego in a beautiful costume. A tender, fierce letter on the carousel of romantic obsession, the grief underneath, and the slow walk home to yourself.

My dear lovely friends, I am thinking of all of you who are reaching for love today. The ones lying awake at three in the morning replaying a single text.

The ones rehearsing a conversation that may never happen. The ones whose chest tightens every time the phone lights up — or doesn't.

The ones who keep walking back, again and again, to a person, a memory, a possibility that never quite forms into anything real. I have been one of you.

I have sat with thousands of seekers across more than thirty years of readings, and I can tell you with certainty: there is something pure in your reaching.