My Theory of Love: Reflections, Illusions, and the Masks We Wear

Love is not about what we receive—it’s about what we give. Like a glass that fills drop by drop, love grows inside us. And when it overflows, we feel the natural urge to share it. To give freely. To pour out something we’ve built quietly within.

But when we’re empty—sad, drained, lost, or hurt—there’s nothing left to give. And that’s where love can become confusing. Heavy. Even painful.

And here’s the paradox:

We don’t fall in love with another person. We fall in love with our own reflection in their eyes.

In The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho, there’s a beautiful retelling of the Narcissus myth:

"When Narcissus died, the forest spirits found his lake transformed into a vessel of salty tears. They asked, ‘Why do you weep for Narcissus? Surely, you miss his beauty.’ The lake replied, ‘I weep not because he was beautiful, but because when he gazed into my waters, I saw my own beauty reflected in his eyes.’"

At the beginning of love, we see the other person through the lens of our own dreams, needs, and ideals. It’s not that they’re fake or deceiving—it’s that we project our vision of perfection onto them. We fall in love not only with them, but with the person we imagine them to be. The one we want them to be.

But as time goes on, the illusion softens. Reality begins to show through. We start seeing the person as they truly are—flawed, human, complex—and slowly, the idealized version we built begins to crumble.

We say, “They changed.” But did they? Or did we simply stop seeing them through the halo we placed upon them?

And then, there’s another layer:

Sometimes someone falls for the mask we wear in society. The confident version. The mysterious one. The independent, untouchable, composed persona.

But when we open up—when love invites us into vulnerability—we show more of who we truly are. Maybe we’re not as distant as we seemed. Maybe we’re sensitive, clingy, or emotional under the surface. And suddenly, the person who once felt magnetized by us now seems confused or distant themselves.

So when love starts to fade or shift, maybe the real question isn’t:

“Did they change?”

But rather:

“What version of myself did they fall in love with?” And was I ever truly seen?