I think dating apps are keeping us apart.

The words of Karamo Brown — “I think dating apps are keeping us apart.” — are simple, yet they carry the gravity of a lament spoken by a sage who has seen the soul of his age. In them lies both observation and warning — a truth wrapped in paradox. For the very tools created to connect us have, in their silent way, begun to divide us. What was meant to bring hearts closer now builds walls of convenience and illusion. Brown’s words call us back to something ancient — the sacred art of presence, of being with one another not through screens and symbols, but through breath, voice, and gaze.

In this reflection, Brown does not condemn technology itself, but the disconnection of the spirit that arises when love becomes a marketplace and the heart a profile. The ancients once gathered in courtyards and temples, where eyes met and words carried the warmth of soul. But now, love has become a scroll of faces, flicked away with the swipe of a finger. What was once the slow dance of courtship — the exchange of letters, the trembling anticipation of touch — has become instant, efficient, and empty. We seek closeness, yet hide behind glass. We crave understanding, yet filter ourselves until nothing true remains.

The origin of Brown’s wisdom lies in the nature of human longing itself. From the dawn of civilization, mankind has sought connection — first through voice, then through writing, then through art and song. Every invention of communication, from papyrus to printing press, from telephone to internet, was born from this desire to bridge the distance between hearts. Yet with each advance came danger: that we would trade depth for ease, meaning for speed. The dating app is the newest vessel of this ancient dilemma — a tool of immense possibility that, without care, becomes a mirror of loneliness. Brown, in his insight, reminds us that no invention can heal the ache that only presence can soothe.

Consider the legend of Narcissus, the youth who fell in love with his own reflection. He sought intimacy, yet could not look beyond himself. His story, though told in myth, lives anew in our times. For when we look to our screens — when we measure connection through numbers, hearts, and matches — we risk falling into the same trap. We fall in love not with people, but with images; not with reality, but with reflections. We chase perfection and flee vulnerability, forgetting that love, in its truest form, is not found in control, but in imperfection shared. Thus, the very tools designed to unite us, if used without wisdom, leave us wandering in the echo chamber of our own desires.

Brown’s lament carries the tone of compassion — not anger, but sorrow for what we are losing. He sees a generation hungry for love, yet starving in abundance. The illusion of connection deceives us: we are surrounded by voices, yet we are lonelier than ever. The ancients would have called this a famine of the heart — a time when the body is fed, the mind is entertained, but the soul goes empty. Brown’s words are a call to remember that no device can replace the sacred electricity of human presence. To hold a gaze, to share silence, to hear laughter without echo — these are the rituals that sustain the spirit.

And yet, his message is not one of despair. It is a call to reclaim authenticity. The tools themselves are not evil; it is our manner of using them that determines their power. A sword can defend or destroy; a flame can warm or consume. Likewise, dating apps can serve as doors or as walls. The lesson is to use them as paths toward real encounter — not substitutes for it. Speak not only with your thumbs, but with your voice. Meet not only in the digital realm, but in the living world. When you seek connection, seek it not in quantity, but in quality — not in the endless chase for novelty, but in the quiet courage to know and be known.

The lesson of Karamo Brown’s insight is both modern and timeless: to remember that the essence of love cannot be coded, optimized, or downloaded. Love is an ancient force, a sacred fire that burns only in the meeting of souls. Let technology serve humanity, not replace it. Let us learn again to listen, to linger, to see one another without the veil of perfection. For no number of matches will equal the warmth of one true bond, and no algorithm can replicate the miracle of two hearts choosing each other in the unpredictable light of life.

So, when you hear Brown’s words — “Dating apps are keeping us apart” — hear them not as condemnation, but as awakening. He is calling us to look up from our screens, to reach for one another not as commodities, but as companions on the same uncertain path. For love was never meant to be efficient. It was meant to be real — a holy labor, a divine risk. And only when we return to that truth will the distance between us begin to close, not through technology, but through the enduring courage of the human heart.