We met once every blue moon. We have done so for years. Each time is like magic. I haven’t realized it until last week: each time is like magic.
We never really make any commitment. Possession is not in our vocabulary. We talked about it and we decided this was best. You don’t belong to me. Nor I to you.
Yet we greet each other. We seek each other. We find solace in each other. We part, only to meet again in the next blue moon. We are apart, but we are in each other’s side. We both know that.
That last time we were together, we walked around, passing empty streets, parks, quiet houses, and men with their dogs. We chatted about nothing and everything. No agenda. No filters. Words just flowed. We stopped at a restaurant to our liking at that moment. We ate, laughed and chatted some more.
On retrospect, in what felt like a brief moment, those hours we spent together, for that short stretch of time, I forgot about myself.
I sipped a taste of no self-consciousness, or past and future. I was completely okay with how I was, how you were, and how things were. I felt no fear or hesitation. I was not even worry when you were about leave. I didn’t need more, or less. It was perfection. I made peace with what was. Magic.
A funny unfamiliar sensation. Unfamiliar and at the same time, familiar, for this is how it is in our natural state. A total repose and joy.
Then that thought came along. Perhaps this is what soulmate means. Perhaps this is what happens when two souls meet. Perhaps there never was any separate two. There wasn’t you or me. There was just one. There was just the conversation.
So, thank you.