We tend to assume that anyone who tells us that they love us — but simultaneously insists that they don't believe we should be together — is lying.
If love is sincere, of course, it won't stop at any obstacles, however large.
You either love a person and then will fight till the end to be with them, or you don't love them and will walk away.
There isn't, there can't be, any third category that isn't just a deceit.
Underneath this uncompromising stance lies an ideology of Romanticism that insists that true love has nothing to do with practicalities.
The romantic novelist D. H. Lawrence captured this absolutist view when he wrote: 'A man in love will sleep for the rest of his life on a park bench for a woman he loves.' And so by extension, if there are children from another relationship, if there is no money, if one of the parties lives abroad, if someone has a mental illness, if there are cultural differences, if long-term goals point in contrasting directions, there will always be a way for love to succeed.
But there is another philosophy at large, more restrained and less esteemed, that balances a respect for emotions with an equal respect for the practical dimensions of life.
This philosophy knows that however tender and sympathetic our feelings may be, they cannot entirely mitigate or erase the impact of social ostracism, opposed friendship groups, clashing values, ongoing distance, incongruous life stages, continuous alarm — or park benches.
If we understand love as ultimately focused on the care and nurture of another person, should we continue to label as loving a relationship that necessarily mires our partner in a succession of avoidable miseries?
Are we so uniquely fitted to be with them as to justify the suffering our presence entails?
