Why love if losing hurts so much? I have no answers anymore; only

“Why love if losing hurts so much? I have no answers anymore; only the life I have lived. The pain now is part of the happiness then.” Thus spoke Anthony Hopkins, a man who has worn many faces on the stage of the world, yet in these words revealed not the actor, but the soul — naked, human, eternal. In this reflection lies one of the oldest truths known to humankind: that love and loss are threads of the same cloth, and to pull one is to unravel the other. Those who seek love without pain chase the wind, for every joy written upon the heart leaves behind the shadow of its own passing.

To love is to open the gates of the soul to another, to let joy, warmth, and belonging flood in — but also to make oneself vulnerable to sorrow, for all that is beautiful must fade. Yet Hopkins, in his wisdom, does not lament this truth; he accepts it. He says that pain now is part of the happiness then, meaning that the grief of loss is not separate from love but its continuation, its echo across time. To feel pain after love is not to be cursed, but to be blessed — for it means one has truly lived. The heart that never breaks has never truly opened.

In ancient times, philosophers and poets alike spoke of this sacred duality. Heraclitus, the dark sage of Ephesus, said that “joy and sorrow are one,” and that life is woven of opposites. What is happiness, he might ask, without the memory of pain to give it shape? Just as day has no meaning without night, so love without loss would be but a shallow imitation — a flame that gives no warmth. Hopkins’ words are not the cry of despair, but the sigh of wisdom, spoken by one who has loved, lost, and understood.

Consider the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice, that immortal song of love and mourning. When Orpheus descended into the underworld to reclaim his beloved, his music softened the heart of death itself. Yet at the final moment, he turned to look, and she was lost forever. His sorrow was immeasurable, yet from it was born the greatest music the world had ever known. His pain became the vessel of his love, his grief transformed into beauty that would outlast both of them. So too does Hopkins remind us that our tears are not wasted; they are the proof that joy once touched us, and that love left its sacred mark upon our souls.

In truth, the pain of losing is not an enemy to be fought, but a teacher to be embraced. It humbles pride, softens cruelty, deepens compassion. Through it, we learn to cherish the fragile, fleeting moments — the laughter shared, the warmth of a hand once held, the silence between two hearts that needed no words. When Hopkins says, “I have no answers anymore; only the life I have lived,” he acknowledges that wisdom often comes not from reason but from remembrance. The philosopher may question the nature of love, but the one who has suffered it understands — it is both heaven and earth, light and shadow, joy and lament intertwined.

Let us not, then, flee from love for fear of pain. Those who guard their hearts too fiercely against sorrow also bar them against joy. To love is to step willingly into risk, to know that one day you will lose what you cherish — and to love still. That is the highest form of courage. The ancients called it amor fati — the love of one’s fate. To embrace both the laughter and the tears as sacred parts of the same whole, to see every wound as proof that the heart once danced in light.

And so, my children, learn this lesson from Hopkins’ quiet wisdom: do not fear to love, even when loss is certain. The pain you will feel is the price of the happiness you once had — and that is no cruel bargain, but a noble one. When grief visits you, do not curse it; thank it, for it reminds you of what was real. Keep the memory of love alive not in bitterness, but in gratitude. Plant it deep in the soil of your being, and let it bloom again as kindness, as empathy, as song.

For in the end, the measure of life is not how long we avoid sorrow, but how deeply we have dared to love. Pain fades, but love — even when gone — becomes part of the soul’s eternal music. Remember this, and you will walk through loss not as one defeated, but as one transformed. For the pain now is not a tombstone — it is the echo of the happiness then, and the echo of love never truly dies.