To love or not to love? The real question is 'why'.

"The love triangle isn’t just romance drama, it’s tied to questions of survival, loyalty, and what kind of person she wants to be."

I recently read this line in a review for my 'Winter Pale: Surviving in Paris', and it stopped me in my tracks. Because it's not just true for the book; it’s true for life. We often think of love as a singular, beautiful force, but in reality, there are different kinds of love, and the one we choose can shape our entire existence.

In my story, Winter is caught between two men, René and Fred, and the choice between them is not about who she loves more. It's about who she is.

There is a kind of love that binds. It is often born of passion and shared purpose, but it comes with a quiet, unspoken demand for you to conform to a vision. René offers Winter a love tied to his battles and his convictions.

“Then love me,” he pleaded—or was it a command? “Love me, Winter, and let that love be your courage.”

To be with him, she would have to constantly try to be someone she is not, to live up to a standard of bravery and nobility that would clash with her deepest survival instincts. This love, though powerful, is a kind of cage.

Apart from that, a love that binds sometimes lives in the shadow of another's ghost, a haunting presence of past heartbreaks that looms over the present.

"She wasn't Simone. That wasn't her name. Yet, pinned against the damp brick, René‘s body a cage of desperate strength, Winter felt a tremor pass through her."

René's burden of memories and unhealed wounds draws Winter in a consuming dance of compensation, striving to fill the void left by Simone's lost affection. His love seeks redemption, each moment with Winter tinged with the urgency to revive what was lost. "And he kissed her with a passion that spoke of a desperate, fervent need, something beyond mere attraction or affection, like he wanted not only to save her but for her to save him." A cycle of longing and unresolved pain; a trap for soul.

Then, there is a love that liberates. This love asks nothing of you—only to be exactly who you are. It sees your flaws, your past burdens, and your moments of guilt, and it loves you all the same.

"Don’t you see? Everything you’ve been through, everything you’ve done, make you not tainted but real. That’s how I see you. And that’s why I need you.”

This is the love Fred offers Winter. It is a love that gives her the space to accept herself—to find a kind of grace that René's demands could never allow. It is a love that doesn't tie her to a purpose, but frees her to find her own.

Whether she can truly achieve that is a subject for another blog post and a separate book. Indeed, the next installment in Winter's personal battle, 'A Home for Winter', aims to uncover precisely that answer.

Regardless, I think the choice Winter faces is a question we all face in some way: do we choose a love that forces us into a mold, or one that gives us the freedom to be our truest, most flawed selves? The kind of love we are willing to accept is a powerful reflection of the person we are, or the person we want to be. And in the end, perhaps the most profound act of self-love is to choose the love that allows you to fly.

Explore More

If you're intrigued by these themes and dilemmas, I invite you to check out these videos on my YouTube channel. They delve deeper into the intricacies of love, identity, and the choices we make, expanding on the questions raised here. Your thoughts and reflections would be a wonderful addition to the conversation!