everyone has a soulmate. we walk this earth not once, not twice, but countless times. each rotation is a unique experience where we meet new people, taste new foods, visit new places, but there are souls that you're destined to meet. destined to love. souls that are inexplicably connected to your own in a way that is almost ineffable. everyone has a soulmate; except me.
i know my soul is old. i feel it in the way i wake in the mornings. in the way i roll over expecting someone else, in the way i walk into rooms reaching for light switches that don't exist, in the way i instinctively know the lyrics to songs long forgotten. my soul is older than the trees littering the skyline out my window, older than each of the buildings i walk past on my way to class. it's not uncommon for me to recognize peopleㅡmy best friend, for instance. he was there when i was a single dad, struggling to braid the long black locks of my only daughter in our crumbling one bedroom, victorian style apartment. and when i was a recluse maiden, locked away in my country cottage, afraid of the sunlight. his partner too, his soulmate, always one step behind him in their many iterations.
no matter how much i search, no matter how many times i tug on the red string of fate that is supposedly connecting us through time and space, i feel nothing. it's as if something has been severed. a clean cut that not only cut our connection, but deep into my ability to love. alternatively, and this is a thought upon which i try my best not to dwell except for on my darkest days, perhaps i never had a string to begin with. it's possible i was put on this earth alone, destined to always be the second option to entertain until the right person comes around. i see those around me waltzing through life, weaving delicate, beautiful tapestries with the person or people with whom they were meant to be, and i am alone.
on those darkest nights i think about everyone i thought could have been on the other side of that connection. i think about dark rooms, 3 am walks on chilly evenings. i think about heartbreak, isolation, despair. i think about the endless and insistent romantic turmoil i face, knowing that i will repeat this process over and over, my physical form deteriorating until it is finally put to rest.
some souls are made to love. you can feel it in their presence. when they walk in, a warmth gradually fills your very essence until you feel full, and then they leave. those people radiate happiness, making them utterly desirable. they're the type of people naturally born to be popular, in the least problematic or toxic way possible. some souls are made to love, but my soul is made to hurt. i am designed to crumble and chip until there's barely any part of me left. giving, giving, giving, in hopes that maybe i too will become someone worth loving.
everyone has a soulmate, someone they are destined to love. everyone, that is, but me.