The fairytale was a lie. We’ve been fed a diet of soulmates and twin flames, of thunderbolts and happily-ever-afters, and it has left us starving for something real. We’re so addicted to the intoxicating rush of the beginning—that first touch, that first kiss, that first breathless confession of “I love you”—that we mistake the absence of that intensity for the absence of love itself. We start to get antsy. Bored. The person we once couldn’t get enough of now feels… familiar. Predictable. The very qualities that once felt like a safe harbor now feel like a cage. > *"And there is no fucking twin soul — that's a scam concept to keep you hooked on perfection instead of owning yourself."* And so we start looking for the escape hatch. We pick fights. We withdraw. We scroll through the highlight reels of other people’s lives, wondering if we made a mistake. We fantasize about a different life, a different partner, a different story. We tell ourselves we’ve “fallen out of love.” In my years of working in this territory, I've seen this pattern dozens of times. What a lie. A convenient, seductive, soul-destroying lie. What’s really happening is that we’re coming