Maybe it’s fear.
Or maybe it’s reality.
Or maybe society’s tactic has worked because here I am, wondering once again whether we must experience lust before love.
“This is why I love you.”
“You don’t love me. You don’t even like me.”
It’s almost like hearing a premature I love you from the person you wanted to love most was emptier than the I’ll see you soon to the friend you know you’ll never speak to again.
I wonder if the risk of missing out on true love and only basking in rendezvous and electrifying infatuation is enough. Enough to protect us from ever having to lose it all again. Will it fulfill us, or will we constantly desire more?
But more is scary.
More feels too close to losing it all again.
More causes me to wonder, to overthink, to worry if maybe true love can only be present once you’ve genuinely come to the point where you can differentiate lust from love.
Because lust will have you believing,
“This is why I love you.”
But true love knows.
It knows.
“You don’t love me. You don’t even like me.”
The Illustration
When you’ve been intensely infatuated with someone for a long period of time, it’s hard to digest the idea of walking away. It’s hard to remove them from your life. Because this isn’t the textbook situation of someone you never understood.
This person is different.
Weird.
Odd in the most intriguing way.
You can tell they’re scared to be hurt. They don’t trust easily. They’ve built a wall so high that even they may not remember what life looked like before it existed. And you know it isn’t your job to tear that wall down. Yet somehow, you find yourself trying anyway. Not because they asked you to. But because you want them to know they’re safe.
You want them to know they can rest.
That they can trust.
That home doesn’t always have to feel temporary.
But somewhere along the way, you realize they’ve already created such a specific illustration of what love is supposed to look like that you’re no longer sure you fit the picture.
So you tell yourself to run.
To hide.
To forget this person exists.
Deeply Known
I can’t subject myself to another heartbreak. And yet, despite every mental pep talk, you somehow keep running back in their direction. Not because you enjoy uncertainty. Not because you’re addicted to chaos. But because you love them. You want them to recognize the difference between being desired and being deeply known
Not because they’ve never experienced affection, but because somewhere along the way they’ve mistaken lust for love. They think what you feel is surface level.
Momentary.
Reactionary.
When in reality…
It’s so much deeper than that.
I want to say I love you back.
I really do.
But I don’t trust your,
“This is why I love you.”
Because it only came after something I did.
So instead I say,
“You don’t love me. You don’t even like me.”
And maybe that’s the tragedy.
Because I do love you.
I really do.
Don’t Confuse Emotional Intensity With Emotional Capacity
Someone can feel deeply. That doesn’t mean they can love consistently.
Emotions are not the same as emotional maturity. Someone can genuinely care about you while still lacking the capacity to build a healthy relationship. Love is measured not only by how deeply someone feels, but by how consistently they choose to show up.
Compassion Shouldn’t Replace Discernment
You can understand why someone struggles without making it your responsibility to heal them.
Empathy is beautiful. Self-sacrifice isn’t always. Sometimes loving someone means accepting that their healing belongs to them, not to you.
Being Deeply Known Requires Mutual Curiosity
Love isn’t just saying,
“I know you.”
It’s also saying,
“I want to continue knowing you.”
Being deeply known is less about arriving at complete understanding and more about remaining curious. Love keeps asking questions. Lust settles for assumptions.
I Know
So I end here today, finally conveying what I’ve struggled to admit.
I love you too.
I genuinely do.
But I believe it’s best to run away. To hide. To spend my time not basking in rendezvous and electrifying infatuation, but understanding why. Why do I keep returning to the same question of whether we must experience lust before love?
The truth of the matter is…
I already know the answer.
I want love.
Whole love.
Love that does not abandon.
Love that doesn’t leave me returning to questions I’ve already answered.
Yet when love doesn’t work out, I somehow allow the world to convince me that what I need is excitement. Those fleeting moments and temporary feelings are enough.
But they’re not.
What I need.
What I want.
Is for you to tell me once again,
“This is why I love you.”
And this time…
I know.
I know.
You love me.
You even like me.
