Love at first sight. We love it—or we love the idea of it.
But if someone says they have fallen for us after one meeting or conversation, can those wonderful feelings be love?
Can they truly love us, without knowing who we are?
I remember when I first heard those words from him: I’ve fallen in love with you.
It felt so good. My ego loved those words.
Yet my heart—fragile and skeptical—said it from the start: No, something is not right. See those red flags?
I did not pay attention to the flags nor my heart. And now I know they spoke the truth.
Love at first sight is a sweet, sweet lie; an easy and thrilling way to achieve instant gratification. To feel good.
Built on our darker desire for drama and destruction, it fools us—it fooled me. It lures us into a web of illusions and fiction.
It broke me. But now I know better.
Love takes work. Love takes effort.
If someone knows only bits of information, yet still claims this is enough despite our cries for patience, for space, for time; if someone pushes, rushes, runs in at 100mph; if someone says they need us, want us, lusts for us, longs for us—does that not reduce us to existing only as what we have shown them up till now?
Somewhere along the way, I stopped, paused, told my heart to breathe. I connected to the rational part of the brain. I tried to answer the question that was spinning in my mind, creeping up on me, filling me with fear each time he went hot and cold:
If I am a book of 1000 pages, how can he love me after having only read one?
When we are reduced to brief first impressions, does that not mean we must always live up to the first page, in order to still be loved?
I finally realized what had happened and I felt foolish, ignorant. So sad and broken.
He wanted me, yes.
But he never truly loved me. He didn’t even know me.
What he loved—with good or bad intentions, with awareness or ignorance—was not me.
It was his illusion of me.
Because they don’t love us when they stop at the first page.
They don’t love us when there’s no space for taking things slow, for a friendly break when things are bad, for standing up for ourselves and protecting our boundaries. This is control, as are the gifts, the love-bombing, the idealization.
What they see is merely a projection. They take the bit information we have given and fill in the gaps with their hopes and dreams.
We’re simply a blank canvas. Until we mess up the image of perfection. Until we spill our own paint onto the white. Until we fill in the gaps ourselves. With our own opinions and preferences, our own hopes and dreams.
Yes, it feels good to believe that someone sees something in us that no one else saw—especially if we’re insecure. Finally, we get recognition without having to put ourselves out there. It feels amazing to hear confessions of love and devotion; to be put on a pedestal; to be idealized and praised. It’s a real kick, for a while.
The problem with this indulgence, this glorious need for approval, this false idealization, is that what goes up, must come down.
If you wish to fly by holding onto someone else’s wings, be prepared for a fall.
Because love at first sight cannot exist.
Lust at first sight, however, is real. And for an uneasy heart, it can easily be confused with love.
Lust craves, desires, possesses.
Lust is beautiful and creative, the source of all life.
But when confused with love, it is painful and destructive and dark.
Where love is generous, lust is greedy and selfish.
Lust is control—rush, self-fulfillment, instant gratification.
Love is freedom—patience, respect, deep appreciation.
Lust says “Me.”
Love says “We.”
And now, I see the difference. I know better.
Author: Ingvild Carmen
Editor: Nicole Cameron
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