Through His Eyes: Trying to See the Love That Was Always There

There’s a song that found its way into my headphones recently — Untitled by Rex Orange County — and it stopped me in my tracks.

It’s raw. It’s tender. It’s messy in the way real love often is.

Listening to it, I couldn’t help but imagine:

Maybe this is what it sounds like inside the mind of someone who loves deeply but doesn’t always know how to show it.

Maybe these are the words that get tangled up behind the silences, the missteps, the moments that hurt even when no hurt was ever intended.

In Untitled, he sings:

"How did I fail / to give you all the love that you deserve? / When you're the only thing that's worth / what life is worth."

It broke something open in me.

There’s a quiet ache that runs underneath so many relationships — a longing to connect, to understand, to be enough for each other.

And sometimes love gets lost not because the feeling isn’t there, but because the language for it is missing.

I think about all the moments when women are aching to be seen, heard, understood — while the men who love them are struggling just as much on the inside, fighting their own doubts, fears, and patterns they don’t know how to name.

It’s not a lack of love.

It’s not even a lack of effort.

Sometimes it’s a gap in translation — the very human struggle of wanting to be good for someone, and feeling helpless when you don’t know how.

In the past, I searched words like “emotional immaturity”, trying to make sense of the gap between the love I could feel and the disconnection I couldn’t bridge.

It helped, a little.

But what helped more was learning to see that the gap itself wasn’t always malice — sometimes, it was heartbreak too.

Not all love stories are simple.

Not all misunderstandings mean the absence of care.

Sometimes — like in this song — it’s the voice of someone who loves you more than anything, and is still learning, still falling short, still hoping you’ll somehow hear the truth underneath it all:

"I don't mind if you hate me / 'Cause, baby, if I were you / I would probably hate me too."

Maybe the real tragedy isn’t in the mistakes.

Maybe it’s how much love was there all along — imperfect, unspoken, trying.