Dylan Thomas, Do not go gentle into that good night
"People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that's what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that is holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life.
A true soul mate is probably the most important person you'll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever? Nah. Too painful. Soul mates, they come into your life just to reveal another layer of yourself to you, and then leave."
Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love
“At Oreanda they sat on a beach not far from the church, looked down at the sea, and were silent. Yalta was barely visible through the morning mist; white clouds rested motionlessly on the mountaintops. The leaves did not stir on the trees, cicadas twanged, and the monotonous muffled sound of the sea that rose from below spoke of the peace, the eternal sleep awaiting us. So it rumbled below when there was no Yalta, no Oreanda here; so it rumbles now, and it will rumble as indifferently and as hollowly when we are no more. And in this constancy, in this complete indifference to the life and death of each of us, there lies, perhaps, a pledge of our eternal salvation, of the unceasing advance of life upon earth, of unceasing movement towards perfection.”
Anton Chekhov, The Lady with the Little Dog
There are many theories as to how we came to be
I’m not sure which one I believe.
Did we appear as dually flickering lights above the hazy skyline—
choking on a stifling fog
First, solitary decades of life as a lukewarm utterance
whispering, “Oh what is this emptiness?”
Hybrid gesturing suggesting half isn’t missing, but whole.
when beacons collide, not coincidence but prophecy,
wrenching claims of meant to be
The sparks erupt,
in ultraviolet chaos—volcanic, raging,
a mighty wallop of color and sound,
a shattering cry of belonging splitting time itself.
I don’t think so.
I don’t think I was born to love anyone except myself,
but even that, some days, I’m not sure is true.
I don’t think our initials are carved into anything immortal.
Let alone battered into the very cosmos
The air didn’t—lock into place upon out arrival,
awaiting the moment our silhouettes would one day fill the empty space
I could fall in love with a melody—
let it crawl to my body,
or train ride, or alabaster sheet; there are chemicals that do these things to me
I could grow fond of many things,
how particular my fondness of you
How violent, how gentle.
I think we’re just moths,
riding on the backs of giants
And I wasn’t drawn to you because our wings are both blue,
but, because they’re the same color as everyone else’s
And you were willing to listen
to why that scared me.
We’re not star-crossed,
but we can still wrap ourselves in the seams of a quilted universe that we didn’t stitch.
Bathe in the glow of the sun that doesn’t shine for us.
Run atop an earth that doesn’t feel our hurried foot steps
as they thump, thump, thump.
How lucky we are to have nothing expected to us.
all the time we’ll ever know is tapping her toes on the doorstep
And I don’t want to keep her waiting.
Savannah Brown, Loving like an Existentialist