To know you more is to love you less

Cirujano de Corazon

Maybe, the real mistake is not about loving you less — but rather, failing to know you more.

Often, we tend to think that we know someone by the simple and superficial things: their smile, their voice, and the whimsical shared moments under the shade of the bus station. It is no less than tragic, as what their heart truly holds is different from the idea that we have of them. 

It’s a tragedy I am acquainted with. Looking back, I thought I already saw what heaven is through her eyes. And, hearing her voice, gave me the assumption that I had already heard all the music that would ever be made. Those things made me love her, for I thought I knew her more than the world will ever do. 

But, as time went by, I saw the ‘her’ she never wanted me to discover. 

In her eyes was not just the scattered stars, but also the coldness of the void. 

Her voice carries not just the music, but the deafening noise and screams of her heart she kept too well, just so—just so I can still tell her “I love you”. 

In hopes of knowing her more, I came to love her less—because I was scared of drowning in the darkness she hid. 

However, it dawned on me that, after all, we’re all like her: hiding what darkness we keep just so someone can look at us without disdain and love us. I’m no less like her, too. I have a void that I fear showing to others, and the loudness I’m afraid will be too deafening if I let people listen to it. 

I realized that, but three years had already passed. What we shared was already buried underneath new stories and pages. She is still the same girl whose eyes hold the warmth and coldness of the space, and her voice still carries the soft melody and the harsh cacophony of sadness within her—but no longer is she mine. 

Maybe, indeed, the real mistake is not about loving her less, but rather, failing to know her more, and failing to love and embrace the things that made me love her less. After all, loving someone is not just knowing someone, but it is also staying when those things you once knew become unknown. 

Maybe, knowing her more is loving her less—but staying and accepting all that she’s afraid to show is what matters more. How I wish I could’ve told her that.