Dear Melinda,
You are never going to read this letter, but that doesn’t concern me. Usually, I would write in my journal. That seems wrong tonight. My journal is just an extension of me, and I’ve already spent hours trying to discover my opinions and emotions on this particular subject, but so far I have been unable. So instead, I’m writing to you. You were always the one who knew exactly what to say to make it all seem so simple.
As you can see by your name at the head of the letter, this is probably going to be fairly deep. Call it an advance warning I guess. Now I’m going to start at a logical place: the beginning.
I don’t know if you are aware, but I followed your advice. I took the escape route option. I nonchalantly left my mom’s new Parisian apartment, calmly stepped into my car and left. Now I’m on my own and feeling free. I’m beginning to enjoy it.
Tonight, something big happened. I had parked in the staff car park of some flash hotel to sleep. I had woken, all cramped up, in the middle of the night, and had stepped out of the car to straighten my legs and have a drink. I leant there against the bonnet, messing with the bottle top of my water for less than a minute before I felt this…presence. I was scared to look up. The weird thing was, that I wasn’t scared it might be something bad, someone come to mug me or kidnap me or kill me. Despite it being two in the morning in some strange town, those thoughts never crossed my mind.
I was scared because I knew I might show too much; reveal my hand. It felt like this presence was going to be able to see straight through me. See my past. See my future. See my fears and hopes and dreams.
But I couldn’t help it. I looked up. All I saw were these green eyes. To be honest, they took my breath away. Immediately, I was proved right; this was someone with the potential to read me like a book. We held eye contact for no more than thirty seconds, but oh, it felt like an eternity. In those thirty seconds, I felt everything rush to the surface: all the anger and resentment, all the pain and all the love I have ever felt. At first I thought it was because this man reminded me of home in someway; perhaps someone I vaguely recognised or was acquainted with. Then I thought that maybe he was the kind of person who had that effect on people, someone like you: one of those rare individuals whose stare is so intense and so trusting that every emotion inside of you is brought to the surface. That was my latest theory.
Here is the proof that it was right to address this to you. You always used to make everything understandable, and you have done now. Since I started this letter, I have realised exactly what it was that had me experiencing all these emotions. They weren’t my own feelings: they were his. I was reading him, delving into his soul as easily as he will eventually be able to see into mine. It is as if his emotion is my emotion; we are one and the same.
At present, I know that this man can not read me as easily as I can him. I could sense his defences, those that are hidden to him but are preventing his own admission to himself about the strength of the bond that has formed between us. Those defences are partially confusion about the feelings he is experienced, partially a lack of trust that exists in anyone whose previous experiences have resulted in cynicism, and partially his current inability to summon up the courage to take a risk that may change his life.
Mel, do you know why I am so sure of this? For several hours I have been wrestling with my confused emotions, and I finally understood after stepping back and considering tonight from another angle. Now, with my new found comprehension of the situation, I can see that part of what I was struggling to gain cognition of, were my own defences. I too was confused by the connection I felt with this stranger; I too remain apprehensive, even now, that I may have to place my trust in a man whose name I do not know. But, unlike this man, I am not afraid to take a gamble: I have proved that in recent days. As a result, my barriers were eventually broken down: I became aware that this man could be my soul mate. He, on the other hand, will at present be unable to admit the possibility. The hesitation to make a life-changing move was evident in his eyes, whether he recognises it himself or it remains subconscious.
I’m not sure how I feel about discovering my soul mate. Overwhelmed, yes. Unnerved that a stranger could soon know so much about me, certainly. But strangely, I’m not scared. It should be frightening. If he soon makes the move to recognise and understand what he is feeling, as I have tonight, there will be someone in existence that knows and understands me exactly because he experiences the same feelings. It should be terrifying: as soon as he comprehends the state of the situation between us, we will know the entirety of each other’s emotional being, without knowing any other angle of each other’s existence than the colour of the other’s eyes. Yes, it should be alarming, but it’s not. I feel calmer and more peaceful than I have done in years. Completed almost. I have seen inside someone who has a replicate soul.
Do you remember that Greek myth you told me? You said that originally, every human looked like two joined together: two heads, four arms, four legs, twenty fingers and twenty toes. But only one soul. And one day, Zeus became angry with the humans and threw lightning bolts at them, splitting each person in two. Each person then remained incomplete until they found the other half of their soul, the other half of themselves. I never believed it, being the cynic I am. I laughed off your talk of soul mates. Well, Mel, this is me saying maybe, just maybe, I believe you now.
Thinking rationally, he can’t be from round here either, he is staying in a hotel. And I am leaving early tomorrow morning: I need to keep moving. This is definitely another odd thing: I am unconcerned that I may never see him again, because I know I will.
Thank you for the advice; I know it was you who rationalised all this for me.
I miss you Mel,
Love Nikki.
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