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The Definite Soul Mate

As someone who loves to indulge in profound conversations with my nearest and dearest, the age old question ”Do you believe in soul mates?” is always ever-pressing and ever unanswered. Last Sunday, sitting on my friend, Mel’s couch was no exception.


”So, do you?” She asked, wide eyed and interested.


I cast my (not always) lucid mind back to past boyfriends whom I very much believed, at the time, were my soul mates.


First, there was P.K whom I met as a naïve, innocent and let’s be real, pretty desperate 17 year old. He was the proverbial tall, dark and handsome man who drove a flash car, had facial hair and money in his pocket. As a scruffy teenager with scraped back hair, no make up and tracksuit and trainers being the frequent attire of choice, P.K was everything I wasn’t. And I knew it.


This knowledge sent me in to a vortex of paranoia and distrust. My every thought was hijacked in to thinking that P.K didn’t really want to be with me and that he would soon leave me or worse, cheat with another girl. These toxic thoughts were translated in my mind as true love.


Yep, my definite soul mate.


After all, if I am this worried about him, then I must really, really, love him…mustn’t I?


Of course, as an experienced 28 year old with a wiser mind and albeit, a heavier heart, I knew that my relationship with P.K was more to do with control than love.


We split up 5 years later after he cheated on me. It took months of convincing from Mel that I had a lucky escape.


Next, there was Dean. Now Dean was a completely different ball game. Firstly, I was a different person. Gone was the Croydon face lift hairstyle and in its place sat a sleek, straight hairstyle. My dress sense had received a huge makeover thanks to a full time wage.


Feeling more attractive often results in others also seeing you that way and Dean was incredibly complimentary. His comments, the way he looked at me and his touch all made me feel simply beautiful.


He loved the way I laughed; the jokes I made; the clothes I wore and the fact that ”I didn’t really wear that much make-up”. We would spend nights together and from the onset of the evening, we would excitedly count how many hours we had together. He loved the me that I loved, he was just great!


Yep, my definite soul mate.


The only problem was, a soul mate shouldn’t really have another 3 soul mates – all at the same time.


We split up after 2 years together and I took my heartbroken self over to Mel’s where the moving on process involved infinite amounts of words of wisdom and just as many cups of tea.


Finally, there was Rian. Dear, sweet Rian. A man who would give you his last tenner and stroke your face until you fell asleep in his arms.


Rian lived with his parents in a huge town house in London which consisted of 3 floors, 7 bedrooms and two living rooms. The first time I visited, I remember thinking ‘Wow, that’s a hell of a lot of brown’. There were brown units, cupboards, drawers, chests; you name it.


It was as archaic a house as I had ever been to and I only ever really felt comfortable in Rian’s bedroom which he would sneak me in to whilst his parents were asleep and carry me up to his room so only one set of footsteps were heard.


We would make love in his single and a half bed amongst the myriad books he had on his shelves, the strewn clothes and the surprise, surprise, brown furniture. After, I would lay on his chest and fall asleep. I would always awake in the same position I fell asleep in, with Rian’s arm around me and my face buried in to him. Such intimacy! Simply two people exploring one another.


For me though, our daily phone calls were the true beauty of our blossoming relationship and I began to view them as a barometer for how we were progressing as two single people, in the early stages of falling in love.


The phone calls themselves would begin at eight o’clock in the evening and would end at 7am in the morning; speaking for 11 consecutive hours was no mean feat but we did it; every night.


His words and voice would carry depth in equal measure and I could almost feel him listening intently to my every word; agreeing, nodding, being impressed, smiling. All through the telephone.


Yep, my definite soul mate.


Unfortunately, Rian was also a definite stalker. He would follow me places to check up on me, hide behind bushes as I was walking home and when he thought I had cheated on him (I had been at Mel’s watching a film), he grabbed me by my throat and punched me hard in the face.


I called the police and took my bruised face over to Mel’s, too frightened to go back to my flat alone.


So that was that, all those hopes and here I was, back at my friend’s house, on her ever familiar couch.


As Mel brought in the tea, her worried face trying its hardest to fix in to a smile for me, an overwhelming surge of love overcame me. Loyal, kind, reliable, funny, warm and spirited Mel.


Yep, my definite soul mate.




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