When I speak about love now, I find myself wanting to begin not with something beautiful, but with something very uncomfortable... for me anyway... Because it is often the uncomfortable truth that turns out to be the most liberating.

For too long we have called “love” what is, in reality, a mixture of hunger, hope, fantasy, fear of loneliness, the desire to be chosen, and an internal story our psyche writes faster than the real person can even understand they’ve already been cast as the main character. And if I look honestly, in so many cases when a woman says “I love this man,” she is not speaking about him. She is speaking about herself. About her taste. Her desires. Her wounds. Her projections. Her inner narrative in which this man has become a savior, a strong shoulder, a sexual god, a soulmate, an ally against the world, a safe wall, a beautiful body, a wise father, a long-awaited home, or simply the carrier of a state in which she could finally exhale. Until we see ALL this, we remain trapped, confusing love with our own experience in the presence of another. When she says “I love my man,” she is often describing not him, but her favorite hallucination about him. This is what I call "the lie" or "illusion"...  And I've been asking myself and others to say their truth, and not support continuation of my own illusions... and some did just that! even though my Ego mind did not like it! 

This is one of the most painful truths for the romantic mind. We do not simply meet a person, we almost instantly begin writing a story about them. We start a psychological construction about them. This story is written quickly, boldly, and without the consent of its main character. In the first chapter he is special, rare, deep, strong, intelligent, incredibly sexual, unlike anyone else, someone you can finally relax with, destiny, chemistry, a sign, a miracle, the meeting of a lifetime. Meanwhile, the man might simply be sitting there, eating his dinner, scratching his ear, and yet inside the mind of the one who has fallen, he has already become a grand project. Key phrase here - HE became her grand project and he must align to maintain that image in HER story. Not just admired, not just desired, but constructed... Designed... Positioned inside a very specific internal architecture where he is expected to align, to behave, to confirm the image that exists in her story. And the pressure here is subtle but relentless. Because once he is cast into that role, he is no longer simply himself... Well, he is not allowed! He is obligated to be someone now! and worst part? He becomes responsible for maintaining coherence inside a narrative that was written without him. And if he doesn’t align, if he moves, shifts, shows something that does not fit, then the system reacts, her system reacts... and influences him. He will be reminded of who he is supposed to be. Through disappointment, through tone, through withdrawal, through quiet correction, through denials, manipulations with sex, through emotional pressure that carries one unspoken message: this is not who you were meant to be for me... the worst part here? He actually believes HER! 

And this is where guilt quietly enters. It is not an obvious weapon, but it is an atmosphere, a stat of being... where two people are actually comfortable now, because this is how they are... For your Ego mind any familiarity will be labeled "comfortable"...  As something he begins to feel without fully understanding why. As if he is failing at a role he never agreed to play. As if his natural expression is somehow a deviation, a mistake, a misalignment. And from there, manipulation does not even need to be intentional to be real. It lives in micro-reactions, in expectations, in subtle shifts of warmth and distance, push and pull, in the invisible negotiation between “who you are” and “who I need you to be so that my world stays intact.” It is delicate, almost invisible, and yet deeply shaping.

What is more confronting for me is not seeing this dynamic in others, but recognizing it in myself. Seeing how many times I have done this without naming it. How often I was relating not to a person, but to an image I was protecting. How easily I could translate my own inner structure into someone else’s responsibility. And there is a kind of quiet grief in that recognition. It is not dramatic anymore, nor it is self-punishing, it is very clear. yes, I did this. I participated in this! I also used guilt, expectation, emotional pressure, even if I didn’t call it that at the time. I didn’t know what I was doing, and yet the impact was still real. 

And when I look even deeper, I begin to question something more fundamental. I am not sure I have ever fully seen another person before. Not completely. Not without overlaying something of my own. Not without filtering them through my needs, my hopes, my internal narratives. There was always some layer of interpretation, some quiet adjustment, some unconscious shaping of who they were allowed to be in my presence! Fuck...  And to admit that is disorienting. Because it means what I called connection was often something else. Something partial. Something mixed. It was a distortion - Devil at work here! I did not allow to even assume that the person might be someone else. I preferred to believe in the lie and distortion of that image I created for that person. 

And yet, something has changed in the last 2 weeks or so... through a direct experience. Over the past week, I found myself in a different way of being with other people. One that feels unfamiliar, but strangely grounded... I can take them in as they are. Fully. Without needing to adjust them, fix them, or project them forward into a future version. and I can stay in my truth at the same time, with what IS now and what IS my boundary when it comes to feelings, projections and expectations... There is a kind of “consuming,” but not in the sense of using or taking. More like allowing their presence to register in me without turning it into a plan, a demand, or a story. I started to catch my own default reactions to their words, decisions, way of living... and now before I say anything I question myself - why? who am I when I want to do this? 

And what is most surprising is what is not there. There is no urgency to define where this is going. No impulse to stabilize it through expectation. No need to extract meaning for the future. I am not building ahead. I am not writing the next chapter. I am here... with what is actually happening, not what it could become. It becomes a fun game where you actually don't care about the result or guarantees, it becomes surprisingly interesting - probablity of events being unfolded in front of me... I catch myself almost smirking at all these options and probabilities... And in that, there is a kind of stability I did not expect. It is not passive, not detached, it is very grounded. Present. Clear. in my body now. and there is no fear about future. It is more of a confidence in what I am doing now... without hiding myself... without supressing my voice... without justifying my decisions or actions... It is LIBERATING! and it doesn't matter what others are going to do with it. 

It feels like reality has more space in it than I thought. And for the first time, I am not trying to fill that space with projections. I am staying with what is here.

And here is the turning point: at the beginning, what we call love is often not a meeting with a real human being, but an excitement about our own interpretation. Men do the same, they simply call it differently and later say “she changed.” But often she did not change. The free trial of their projection simply ended. As long as they were looking through the lens of their hunger, she was a muse, a goddess, salvation, proof that life still had meaning. Then reality entered the frame without invitation, and suddenly the goddess gets irritated, the muse gets tired, tenderness goes silent, and salvation also needs rest, space, and sometimes wants no one at all. Instead of admitting “I was in love with my own story,” we perform the ancient ritual of human foolishness: “you became different.”

What interests me now is not even the illusion itself, but the mechanism behind it. Why do we so easily replace a real human being with an internal image of them. Why is it so difficult to see not a function for our inner theater, but a living, separate being. Why do we choose sweet dissolution in projection, and then call the collapse of that projection betrayal. And the deeper I look, the clearer it becomes: at the core of this dynamic there is something I want to name precisely, not morally, but structurally.

VANITY! if you translate the Russian word for it it literaly means "Vainglory". The word itself feels like a formula. It is built from two roots: “vain” and “glory.” “Vain” refers to emptiness, futility, something that appears meaningful but lacks inner weight. “Glory” is not just recognition, but radiance, what echoes beyond you, what is reflected into the world. When combined, vainglory becomes the pursuit of radiance that is empty within. A desire to be seen shining without actually being connected to the source of that light.

And if I go deeper, it becomes more than a definition. It becomes an image. A person standing before the world, holding not the light itself, but its reflection. Not radiating what is inside of him (I call it truth, you may call it "guts"), but wanting to be perceived as someone who radiates. And here a subtle shift changes everything. This is no longer about self-love, nor even about the desire to be seen. It is about a substitution of the source. When inner worth is not lived directly, a person begins to assemble themselves through the eyes of others. As if: if I am seen, I exist. If I am praised, I am worthy. If I am chosen, I matter. If I am loved, I become real. And from this comes a deep tension, because vainglory can never truly satisfy. Emptiness cannot be filled by reflection. Reflection has no weight. It cannot hold you. Life then turns into a stage, but not a stage of creation, rather a stage of validation. Not a place where the soul expresses itself, but where it tries to prove its right to exist through the reaction of the audience. Are you applauding to me, motherfuckers? - sort of speak... 

This is why so many relationships are built not on love, but on a refined form of consumption. I need you because next to you I feel special. I need you because next to you I feel like a man. I need you because you serve my idea of life. I need you because you reflect back to me a version of myself I cannot yet hold on my own. I need you because next to you I feel desired, significant, safe, beautiful, not alone, validated. All of this is deeply human, deeply familiar, and very far from the word “love” that we use to decorate weddings and stories. Here love becomes not a meeting, but a use. Sometimes subtle, sometimes elegant, sometimes even poetic, but still a use. The other is no longer a mystery, but a resource. Not a being, but a screen onto which I project my film.

This is why love built on projection turns so quickly into accusation. Yesterday he was wonderful, charming, sexual, extraordinary. Today he is selfish, cold, controlling, unavailable, immature. What changed? Something he did? nope! Often what collapsed was the story that was convenient for me. As long as he supports my projection, I call it love. When he stops, I call it betrayal and then I hate him. In reality, he may have simply stopped being a screen for my movie. And here the ego reacts intensely. Because admitting “I loved not you, but my experience next to you” is almost unbearable. The ego wants to believe it truly saw the other. But often it only deeply experienced itself in the presence of a suitable backdrop. 

The most painful truth is that people love the idea of love, but not the reality of another person. They love closeness, but not difference. They love being chosen, but not encountering autonomy. They love feeling important, but not the other’s freedom. They love the way the other feeds their sense of worth, beauty, safety, and desirability. But the moment a real human begins to show their nature, their limits, their tiredness, their shadow, their difference, conflict appears. And this is where it becomes clear who is ready for love, and who still wants a beautiful illusion. Because love becomes possible not when the other perfectly matches your script, but when you begin to see a living person who does not have to match your expectations, and you still remain in contact. This is where it becomes interesting. Because real love begins not where you dissolve into projection, but where the projection cracks, the dust settles, the special effects end, and you suddenly see an independent being, not a function for your internal play.

This is the threshold where romantic illusion ends and the possibility of a true union begins. Not marriage as a social structure, not a contract of roles, not a form of togetherness maintained through habit, fear, obligation, or appearance. No more of Vainglory! A true union begins where truth enters the space between two people. Where you can show not only your polished, spiritual, attractive, or “together” parts, but everything... really everything... Your pain. Your shadow. Your awkwardness. Your fear. Your imperfection. Everything you once rejected in yourself. And the other does not use it against you, does not run, does not punish, but sees it as reality and stays. And there is an even deeper layer: not only can I show you all of me and you stay, but I see all of you and I stay. Not from dependence, not from fear, but from a conscious choice to remain in contact with reality, not just with a convenient image. Because you see alighment in something far more beautiful then stage decorations and costumes and audience applause because you somehow mastered words you learnt to say and played that part brilliantly for others... 

Here it becomes important to distinguish marriage from union. Marriage can exist without truth. It can be a system of mutual maintenance of illusions. One plays strong, the other grateful. One plays savior, the other saved. Roles can be sustained for years! But there may be no real meeting. No real seeing.

Union is different. It dissolves roles. It reveals everything underneath. It does not support illusion, it exposes it. And that is why it often feels less like comfort and more like initiation.

If we were honest, the beginning of every relationship could sound like this: “Hello, I don’t know who you are, but I have already projected onto you my hopes, fears, fantasies, needs, and unresolved parts. I hope you can handle that from now on! I will be reminding you about these projections of mine every single day!” That would be the most truthful contract. But instead we speak of destiny and magic, and later ask, “where did it all go?” It did not go anywhere. Reality simply reclaimed space from fantasy.

For me, love begins later than people think. Not at the moment of attraction, not at the peak of emotion, but at the moment when the illusion can no longer be sustained. When I see a real person who may not meet my expectations, may not validate me, may be separate, different, sometimes inconvenient. And I do not collapse, I do not try to fix them, I do not declare everything false. I remain. And here, something real begins. Only here something real is actually possible! 

And this is where vainglory becomes central. As long as I live through reflection, I cannot truly love. I am always looking at myself through the other. But when I return to my own source, something changes. The other is no longer a mirror I depend on. They become a person again. And only then is real contact possible.

This is why I feel that the union of the future will not be built on idealization, but on truth. Not on roles, but on that presence. Not on projection, but on the ability to stay when projection dissolves. Not on reflection, but on reality. And maybe that is the kind of love that is not as sweet, but infinitely more alive.