What is love?

Of course it is a desire to understand something, to know it.

That is the point of life is it not? To know and be known?

And to hate is the opposite, to not seek an understanding of something. To see even a glimpse of it and recoil at even the mere edges of its pattern.

So it is clear that in some way I loved you. I sought to understand, to know you.

Though to my shame I did not try and see the whole of the thing until it was too late. I had accepted pieces of the whole as independent. And though each was beautiful and I adored them in their separate parts. I did not recognize the missing pieces yet to be seen. Yet uncovered that were hinted at in the pairing of those individual portions.

I became lazy in my pursuit of the whole. Not realizing the gaps in the beauty that would have shown me something even more perfect. The truth.

This lead me to wrong conclusions. To see you as many others had before and not as who you truly were. That is not a true love.

I saw OCD and how it tied to a childhood with a lack of control. I saw how time in nature made you shine with joy.

Seeing this, I assumed wrongly you were wild and free. Not realizing nature was your place to seek wild and free for yourself. The chains that held you invisible to me as the missing pieces of a puzzle. Had I cared to look at the whole I might have seen it then? But I did not. And instead, like so many others, I only saw the reflection of desire.

Though could I tell you one truth, it would be that the reflection of your desire was perfection. That I saw in you the ability to reach that. Yes the jagged scar marks the mirror but if you could look past that scar, you'd see that the reflection you stare into like a mirror, was you the whole time. Others can see it but you cannot. And for their lack of ability to see what you see, it would make perfect sense to leave.

How can they love you when they don't know you truly? What point is there in attempting to know them beyond that mirror they project?

Such a beautiful glimpse of missing truth that is. From the shattered pieces of memories long past.

To know something is to be able to harm it or help it. I can no longer trust my knowledge of the whole, so I can no longer know it. I would just as likely cause harm as help were I to call out on a lonely night. So I stay quite. Appreciation from afar. And someday when you reach that place of wide and free, which I know you will. I will no longer be a threat. You will see in yourself what my flawed eyes saw and you'll have the choice to return.

But you never sought a true understanding did you? So you do not wake from dreams of my shadow passing on a cloudy night through the mist. Or ponder the meaning of love endlessly in relation to me. To me you are the thing I'll never fully know. And for that, I cannot be sad. It brings incredible joy. But also.. the quiet calm of endless loss.