When something feels magical… but still not enough
I never thought it was possible to have a bond with someone that feels both magical and inadequate. It sounds contradictory, doesn’t it? After all, when something is magical, it should be beautiful, fulfilling–something that takes your breath away. So how can something feel so extraordinary and still leave you wanting more?
Yet I’ve found myself in the exact space again and again.
No matter how beautiful these connections seem, they often leave me unsatisfied—lacking in ways I can’t ignore. People come and go like the wind. Some fade, some disappear, and then someone new arrives, carrying a different kind of charm. And somehow, the cycle repeats.
But here’s what life has taught me - to live in the moment but not recklessly. I’ve experienced love in many forms, yet I’ve learned not to lose myself in it simply because it feels magical. Feelings can be intense, convincing even—but they are not always truthful in the long run.
So I’ve learned to step back. To retreat into quiet moments. To process what I feel, and give situations time to unfold naturally.
And it always does.
The Realization: I Was the Magic
At some point, I had to face an uncomfortable truth:
Oftentimes, I am the magic.
I am the spark, the fire, the intensity that makes these connections feel so alive. Because if it were truly mutual, I wouldn’t feel drained.
There is power in that realization—the understanding that your energy can be strong enough to compensate for someone else’s lack. But there is also danger in it.
Because when you are used to being the one who gives, who carries, who fuels the connection, you can easily overlook what is missing.
In the quiet, patterns reveal themselves.
And if you pay attention, you’ll see it clearly: the emptiness doesn’t come from nowhere. It comes from giving endlessly without being refilled.
From pouring into others who admire what you give but never feel compelled to match it.
That’s where the disconnect lies.
Not in the absence of connection—but in the absence of reciprocity.
So I’ve had to rethink how I measure connection.
Not by how intense it feels—because desire is not effort. Not by how magical it seems—because chemistry is not commitment. But by something far simpler, and far more telling:
Reciprocity.
The willingness to pour into me as much as I pour into you. The consistency in showing up. The effort to try—without hesitation, without prompting.
Because love is not just something you feel. It is something you do.
A connection cannot truly flourish where understanding is given, yet effort is withheld.
With time and experience, I’ve shifted.
From romantic idealism to analytical awareness.
From blind giving to intentional boundaries.
I still believe in connection. I still believe in love. But I no longer confuse intensity for depth, or chemistry for compatibility. I no longer chase what feels magical. I choose what is mutual.
Because in the end, reciprocity—not intensity—is one of the truest measures of a meaningful connection.
All images not sourced are mine
