On the pleasure of not meeting a soul mate.

I guess I am pretty lucky. I’m my life I have managed to meet and fall in love with a couple of men who I could say were, at the time, soul mates. You know the kind of love where the other person seems to know you better than yourself. Where they seem to be able to see deep into your soul and mirror back to you all the beauty and poetry that you have inside you. Beautiful romantic connections where conversation was never waning and your lover was your best friend. Or so it seemed. Yet recently I met a man who is none of these things. In fact I could come up with a list a mile long of ways he is not my soul mate. And yet it’s one of the most pleasurable experiences I’ve ever had. And in a way that is so unexpected. It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a lover in this way. And in that solo time so much self loving has happened, so much self mothering and tending to my own heart and body’s needs, that I’ve come to realise and know my own soul so well. Perhaps I no longer need another person to reveal to me who I truly am. I suspect that I’ve done that work for myself and it feels amazing. He is a man. With all the fierce unapologetic masculinity that is so attractive to a woman who has realised herself. And yet I can’t help but laugh at the way I almost turned away from this one with a crazy self righteous, ‘ but he’s not soul mate material!’ and my crazy list of reasons why he was not right for me. But really, when I took another look at that list in my mind, it was really a list of ways that he is not ‘me’. And the search for ‘me’ whilst it has been terribly important and illuminating, is no longer necessary. So for as long as it’s here I will sit back inside my woman and revel in not be revealed but rather, loved.

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