His love isn’t a DVD. I can’t own it, keep it on a shelf and only watch it when I have access to one of those antiquated machines that play them.
His love is a bit like a Netflix subscription.
I can watch the next episode of Supernatural from the tub while his other partners queue up their favorite shows or films from his vast library from their tablet or TV.
We’re all subscribers with the same benefit, and as long as his servers (and our internet access) are up and running, we can all keep on streaming our individual relationships without much interruption.
People ask me if it bothers me that he has other partners. I shrug. “Not really.” They don’t believe me. They give me that look like they just don’t believe that I can tolerate the thought of other people having access to his heart.
But it doesn’t. His feelings for other people don’t affect his feelings for me and vice versa.
I share my Netflix account with my parents. My mom can watch Downton Abbey at her house while I’m binge-watching Supernatural at mine, and neither of us is losing anything from our experience. She’s getting to watch what she wants, and I get to watch what I want simultaneously.
I once wrote (elsewhere) something that described it as having to “share” his love, and he corrected me. It’s shared access, but we each have 100% of his emotional library once we’ve logged into our subscription.
His love lives in the cloud on a shared server. I don’t need to be in his physical presence to feel it or sense it or know that it’s there.