In recent years, I’ve noticed more friends choosing to live in open relationships. These are people who have been together for years, even decades, building a life and future together, truly loving each other. Yet they’ve come to admit: sex isn’t what it used to be. They don’t want to break up, but they also don’t want to give up passion and the thrill of something new. They say open relationships might be the answer. That love and desire are two different things—and both can coexist.
I often sit quietly in these conversations, watching and trying to understand what’s driving this wave. One friend said monogamy is just a social construct—there’s nothing natural about tying our desires to one person for life. Another said open relationships are actually more honest—no lies, no secrets, just openly admitting that desire can wander.
While I get where they’re coming from, I can’t fully agree. I don’t judge them, nor do I think polyamory automatically defines a relationship’s quality. In fact, I can imagine it working for some—those who are stable, mature, and secure enough to separate physical desire from emotions. But honestly, in my circle, I haven’t seen an open relationship that truly worked long-term.
Something always happened. Someone got hurt. Someone fell too hard for a third person. Someone realized that “freedom” was really an escape—a way to avoid facing real problems already present in the relationship. That “openness” just covered up what was hard to say—that the relationship had simply changed, and they were afraid to let go.
Meanwhile, I just feel: it’s okay if someone doesn’t want to burn the same way forever, but for me, true love is the kind that scorches you a little. I can’t love at half flame. I can’t imagine wanting someone who’s in another’s arms and calmly accepting it because “that’s grown-up.” No, that’s not the kind of grown-up love I want.
Maybe I’m idealistic, maybe old-fashioned. But to me, love isn’t a “project” or a flexible, redefined arrangement. Love is instinctive, wild, and unpredictable. I want to belong to someone—not out of possession, but because I simply can’t not belong. I want a touch to still carry weight after ten years, without wondering who else shares it.
I also know passion doesn’t stay the same forever. Love naturally transforms—into something deeper, calmer, more familiar. But I believe if we can’t rediscover each other again and again, if we can’t keep even a small flame alive, maybe opening up isn’t the answer. Maybe the answer is honestly admitting: this isn’t the same anymore. And then either trying again or letting go.
For me, love isn’t about compromise—it’s about commitment. Choosing someone and wanting to stay with them—not because I can’t find anyone else, but because I don’t want to.
In theory, it’s a beautiful idea not to own each other. To let the other be free and trust they’ll come back. But that’s not the love I want. I want the kind of love that makes someone never want to leave. Where no rules are needed because the other simply doesn’t want anyone else.
Maybe open relationships are the future. But if so, I’ll stay a little in the past—where love wasn’t a trend, but a fierce, honest, inexplicable feeling. Where we weren’t afraid to give it our all—because that’s what made it beautiful.
