If Love Is Not One Color
We grow up learning that real love should be pure, clear, and singular. Ideally, it should resemble a diamond — transparent, stable, untouched by flaws.
This kind of love feels safe. It is easy to explain, recognize, and believe in. As long as it remains unchanged, we assume it will last.
But the first time you truly look at an opal, that assumption will begin to shift.
An opal is never just one color. Blue, green, red, violet — they can exist within the same stone at the same time, without competing or cancelling one another out. What appears is not chaos, but coexistence: colors responding to light, angle, and movement, each allowed to exist fully.
Love, however, is rarely granted the same freedom, as we are taught to desire simplicity. To be happy without contradiction. To be certain without hesitation. To be devoted without exhaustion. As if complexity itself were a sign of failure.
Yet love, as it is actually lived, does not behave this way.
Enduring relationships often hold warmth and distance, closeness and space, security and doubt — all at once. This is not love deteriorating. It is love gaining dimension.
An opal reminds us that commitment does not mean uniformity.
Within one relationship, you may become many versions of yourself. Within one person, you may discover more than one kind of light. These colors do not weaken love — they deepen it.
Perhaps our disappointment with love does not come from change itself, but from the fact that we allowed it only one color to begin with.
If love can contain so many hues at once, then perhaps the question is not how to preserve it unchanged — but whether love was ever meant to be singular at all.
