( continued from above )
I once met a boy, a boy who was very wise for his age, and who grew to be very dear to me, who believed that the idea of having only one soul mate is not only impossible, but preposterous.
That throughout our life we will meet certain individuals, who simply…get us.
Individuals who simply just get us. Because they are us. In some small way. Of course, they won’t be exactly like us or love us back, but they will be us in spirit, in soul. And we will recognize that. And they will be one of our many soulmates. These will be our true lovers, the ones who can truly affect us.
And maybe instead of taking a piece of your heart, they leave something. A missing piece to your soul.
Maybe that’s what we feel when we remember them and feel pain, or joy, or sadness. It’s our soul yearning, clamoring to find more of these individuals, so that it may collect the missing puzzle pieces of itself, and take one step further towards becoming complete and perfect.
And so, when we finally meet that one person, the heart-thumping, neverending, big-time love, he or she is certainly NOT our one and only soulmate.
But simply the last one.
The final piece to the puzzle.
The one that the universe finally decided to let us have, decided we were finally ready for.
And that’s why we stop searching. Not because they’re our other half, but maybe our last eighth, or 16th, or even 50th.
They are the piece that fills the gap, seals everything up tight, makes our being whole. And we, conversely, do the same for them.
And so to thank them, and to congratulate them on being the last player in the game, we present to them our newly-whole selves. Our selves that are no longer filled with longing and no longer searching, always searching, for completion, for perfection. These whole selves are in essence a better self, a self that knows, well, one’s self.
Silky and shiny, and with that delightful new bedspread smell, we embark on a love that is confident, mature, and so very, very willing.
I guess if you think about things in that way, it makes it a little easier to get out of bed in the morning. To return the smile of that stranger in the coffee house. To dance — with your eyes closed, your arms out, open, ready to accept love in any form it may come.
And if life really turns out to be as I’ve described, if existence is but a scavenger hunt for the pieces of your soul, a lifelong adventure towards completion, then I’d say that’s certainly no reason for me to worry, for you, for all of us to worry.
It’s just an excuse to dance some more.