Let’s talk about magic. Not the flashy, wand-waving kind, but the quiet, personal kind—the kind you do when your heart is heavy and logic just isn’t cutting it.
I’m talking about the “Burn Their Name” spell. Simple, effective, and weirdly satisfying.
I did this for my twin flame. (Yes, that twin flame—the one who was supposed to be my cosmic match but married someone else instead.) Logic said, Move on. My heart said, But what if…
So I burned his name.
And something shifted. Not instantly, not magically—but over time, the grip loosened. The obsessive thoughts faded. The “what ifs” stopped echoing so loudly. Maybe it was psychological—the act of release tricking my brain into acceptance. Or maybe it was real magic. Either way, it worked. Here’s how to do it.
How To Do It
There’s something undeniably powerful about fire. It destroys, yes—but it also purifies. And when you’re carrying the weight of someone who no longer belongs in your life, sometimes the most healing thing you can do is let the flames take them away.
I’ve done this ritual myself—for my twin flame, the one who was supposed to be my mirror but chose someone else instead. And it worked. Not like a Hollywood spell, with instant amnesia, but in quiet, steady ways. The thoughts faded. The grip loosened. The heartache dulled.
If you’re ready to try it, here’s how to do it right.
Step 1: Go Outside
Nighttime is ideal—there’s something about the moon’s energy and the stillness of the dark that makes the ritual feel more potent. But if you’re like me and the idea of wandering into the woods at night sounds like the opening scene of a horror movie, daylight works just fine. I did mine in the forest during the day, surrounded by trees and the sound of birds. The important thing is that you’re somewhere you feel safe but removed from your everyday distractions.
Step 2: Take A Piece of Paper
It doesn’t have to be fancy. A torn receipt, a sticky note, even a napkin—whatever you have on hand. The simplicity is part of the magic. This isn’t about ceremony; it’s about intention.
Step 3: Write Their Name
Use their full name if you can. As you press the pen to paper, let yourself feel it. This isn’t just ink on a page—it’s a representation of their presence in your life.
Step 4: Sit With The Name
Place the paper on something solid—a rock, a stone, or even a piece of iron (which is said to have grounding properties). Now, look at their name. Really look at it. This is your moment to say everything you never got to say.
Tell them how they hurt you.
Tell them what you wished had been different.
Tell them goodbye.
This isn’t for them—it’s for you. Say it out loud or in your head, but say it all.
Step 5: Burn It
Hold the paper by a corner and light it. Watch as the fire consumes their name, turning the letters to blackened edges, then ash. Don’t rush this part. The key is in the watching.
As the flames take the paper, imagine them taking the weight, the longing, the unanswered questions. You’re not just burning paper—you’re burning the hold they had on you.
Why This Works
Fire has always been a symbol of transformation. In that moment, you’re not just performing a ritual—you’re giving your subconscious permission to let go. The act itself is a release, a physical manifestation of an emotional truth: They don’t belong in your life anymore.
And slowly, over time, you’ll realize it’s true. The thoughts will come less often. The ache will soften. You’ll wake up one day and realize you didn’t think of them at all.
That’s the real magic..
A Few Tips
Take your time. Don’t hurry the flames. Let them lick away the past in their own rhythm. Watch until the last ember fades, then linger with the ashes—what’s left is no longer yours to carry.
Speak if you need to. Whisper “I release you” as the paper curls to smoke. Or stay silent—let the crackle of the fire speak for you. There’s power in both.
Safety matters. I did this in the forest, their name burning atop a broad, flat stone. If you’re working outdoors, choose your space wisely: bare earth, stone, or an iron plate (fire’s old companion). Keep water nearby. Magic shouldn’t risk wildfires—or singed fingertips.
This isn’t a forgetting spell. It’s a softening spell. They might still flicker through your thoughts, but the edges won’t cut as deep. One day, you’ll realize the memory of them feels like a story about someone else.
Magic rarely bends the universe to our will. But it can bend us—toward release, toward resilience. All it took for me was a name, a flame, and the courage to say: Enough.
