When distance feels deeper

The complexity of the mind often stands in the way of finding true connection. The deeper we think, the harder it becomes to meet someone who understands the language of our silence. We crave meaning, not noise — but in that craving, we also mistake intensity for intimacy.

Maybe that’s why safety feels sterile and suffering feels sexy. The mind is wired for thrill — it chases uncertainty, it feeds on risk. Predictability feels dull because it doesn’t light up the brain. Stability gives peace, but chaos gives dopamine. And in that chemical confusion, we start believing that pain is passion.

The same illusion plays out in love. When someone drifts away, their absence grows larger than their presence ever did. We start missing them, not because they were perfect, but because they’re gone. Scarcity makes the heart race — we confuse unavailability with value. Yet, the truth is simple: what’s hard to reach isn’t always worth holding onto.

And then, one day, that same person returns, saying, “I like you.” Suddenly, the spell breaks. The mystery dissolves. The chase ends, and what once felt rare becomes ordinary. It’s strange — how the mind desires what it cannot have, and doubts what comes too easily.

We live in that paradox — longing for what hurts, and fearing what heals.

Because sometimes, it’s not the person we miss, but the version of ourselves that existed while we were trying to reach them.