the tipping of a mirror.

A few times in a lifetime, you meet someone who was born carrying a part of you inside themselves.
When the universe began, there was a phenomenal, cataclysmic bursting of atoms and nebulae and particles were scattered and absorbed by all forms of light. A few times in a lifetime, you meet someone who harbors pieces of you tucked away for safe keeping. These are soulmates.
These are not soulmates in the Romeo and Juliet sense, although they could be. They’re easily recognizable by their familiarity, but they are skewed like looking in the tipping of a mirror. There is comfort in their silliness, as it is your silliness. This likeness sometimes leads to romance, sometimes not. But all the wisdom of the entire cosmos cannot repair one human flaw. So, sometimes this person becomes a star-crossed lover which ends in a heartfelt demise. Maybe you’ve not met them in person. Sometimes this person moves across the country and begins a new life which you cannot be a part of. Maybe you don’t want to. And sometimes this person and yourself just stop speaking under the guise of irreconcilable circumstances because one of you has forgotten how well you know the other. Maybe you have. It’s usually just a sort of fading, a waning of time. Eventually it feels natural, this passage of time and development of differences. Eventually you’ll go months without even thinking of them.
But when you do think of them, without even trying to remember them, you miss them. The missing has nothing to do with love, affection or nostalgia. It’s not a longing for this person or a want to change the past or a lingering sadness. The missing is deeper than that, and less emotional. The missing is more platonic than platonic. The missing is the soul’s acknowledgement that it no longer has something it once did, and for even the briefest of moments, it pines to be itself again.

say something to me.

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