Whenever you have an ex, and they're like, 'I hope we can still

“Whenever you have an ex, and they're like, ‘I hope we can still be friends!’ and you weren’t friends before you started dating, then what do you go back to, really?” Thus spoke Ed Sheeran, with the disarming honesty of one who has walked through both tenderness and heartbreak. His words may sound casual, even humorous—but beneath them lies an ancient truth about the nature of love, loss, and the illusions we weave to soften the pain of parting. For what he asks is not merely about relationships—it is a question of truth and memory: when a bond has changed the shape of our hearts, can we truly return to what was before?

In the ancient world, the poets and philosophers knew well the power and peril of love’s transformation. Sappho, in her lyric fragments, spoke of love as “bittersweet,” a force that both builds and burns, leaving no heart untouched. Once two souls have joined in intimacy—whether in body, spirit, or deep affection—they are altered. They cannot return to being strangers, nor even to the innocence of mere friendship. Sheeran’s question—what do you go back to, really?—echoes through time as a lament and a lesson: that once the river has flowed, its water can never be gathered back into the spring.

The notion of “being friends” after love is often born of kindness, or guilt, or the hope that not all will be lost. We fear emptiness; we wish to hold onto something familiar, even as the flame fades. But true wisdom demands clarity: not all endings must be softened. The ancient Greeks spoke of catharsis—a purifying through suffering. To let something end completely is to allow space for renewal. To cling to fragments of what once was is to live half-alive, chained to ghosts. Thus, Sheeran’s words remind us that pretending to return to friendship when none existed before is to deny the truth of transformation. It is to seek refuge in illusion rather than to stand tall in the storm of change.

Consider the tale of Tristan and Isolde, whose love defied duty and time. When their forbidden passion was discovered, no bond of friendship could replace what had been. Their connection was too deep, too fateful. To attempt to “go back” would have been to betray the very power of what they had shared. Their story ends in tragedy, yes—but it also teaches that some loves, by their nature, consume the bridge behind them. When love departs, it leaves not the echo of friendship, but the hollow ache of transformation—a new shape of soul, not a return to what was.

Sheeran’s insight, then, is not bitter—it is truthful. He points to the natural order of things: that life moves forward, not backward. Each relationship we live, whether it ends in joy or sorrow, adds to the mosaic of who we are. To force a friendship where there was never one is to walk in circles around what is already gone. The wise instead bless what has ended, give thanks for what was learned, and continue onward with grace. The path ahead is always clearer than the one behind.

And yet, not all endings need be harsh. There are loves that evolve gently into companionship, where friendship is not a return, but a rebirth. This can only happen, however, when both hearts have healed and are honest about the transformation that occurred. To claim friendship too soon is to build upon ashes; to allow time and space is to let the soil grow fertile again. The difference lies in patience and truth—the twin pillars of wisdom in all matters of the heart.

From Sheeran’s words arises a lesson for all generations: Do not cling to the past for fear of emptiness. What was once love cannot simply be reshaped by will into friendship. Let the current of life carry you forward. Mourn what must die, honor what was true, and trust that new connections will come when the heart is ready. In the silence after love, do not rush to fill the void with half-truths. Sit in it. Learn from it. Grow strong enough to walk alone until friendship—real friendship—can be born of peace, not of pain.

So remember, dear listener: when someone says, “Let’s still be friends,” pause, and ask—as Ed Sheeran once did—what do we go back to, really? If the answer is nothing, then let the nothing be sacred. For from that emptiness, new truth, new strength, and new love will surely rise.