Whenever we act from a fear of loss, we have already lost the thing we fear losing. When, for example, we do not follow our desire in order to not lose another person, we lose not only ourselves, we also lose the other person, because now they only know a persona that conforms but they don't know our soul. Even if the two bodies continue to interact, loss has occurred on the interior.
When we use another person as our excuse for having less, being less, or expressing less in order to remain with someone physically, we essentially exchange our role as two people with free will choosing each other, to that of warden. We watch them to ensure they stay close, and we make them the supervisor of our desire.
This truth is almost sneaky, because it is so counterintuitive. In order to have real connection, we have to be willing to have it not look like connection. There is something almost mystical about it, because it does not follow the rules we are told are true.
We think that in order to have intimacy, being physically connected and ensuring our chosen partner spends as much time with us as possible are essential.
It doesn't seem logical to say that in order to remain connected, we need to follow our own desire even if it means not being in close proximity to our partner. However, desire not followed causes the mind to close. If we choose closeness or proximity over desire, we lose the feeling of aliveness.
Without desire, the whole thing goes limp—doubt begins to enter and we find ourselves either gripping on to the person more or withdrawing altogether. At every turn, we have to go against the cunning of our mind, which wants to keep us smaller, hoping the desire will magically change and that closeness will bring about connection.
In reality, the only thing that will change it is opening desire again—not in spite of, but for the sake of the relationship. This is how we get the aliveness back.