The new, shiny toy is now old and broken

What do I mean to you, now that you know me?
What do I mean?
Am I less intriguing, now that you know my ways,
Am I less smart, or funny or kind?
Now, that you see who I am, do you find me
Less worthy?
Now, that you can guess my moves,
Now, when you understand me better,
Now, when I’m not much of an enigma,
What do I mean to you?

Does knowing one mean you cannot love,
Or feel,
Or touch,
Or find that one still worthy to be yours?

Does knowing one imply a colder self,
A distant attitude you can’t deny,
A way of being that you can’t decline,
An unknown feeling that you just can’t stand?

What is then knowing if it binds your kind?
What is your kind if bonded by knowing?
How can you claim you seek the truth,
Yet when you find it, you deride its face?
What is worth knowing, I dare say,
If by knowing, you lose your taste?
What is worth knowing if you care to know
Not what would make you happy,
But what would stay unknown.
What is worth knowing if you just can’t bear
Unveiling the intricate pattern some may have?
What is worth knowing?…

And how can you love without knowing?
Or how can you know without loving?
What’s knowing but uncovering a scene
And finding every actor in its place,
Prepared to deliver a line,
Crystal clear,
Prepared to whisper, if need be,
To cry, to die, to act by all means,
If need be…?
How can you know the ways of things
And not adore their simplicity?
Or how can you claim you love a thing
Without understanding each of its bits?
For you can’t love the greatness in a horse
And mock the fact it ends with hoofs.
What do I mean to you, now that you know me?