Soul Connection

I had entered the room with an authenticity that I had only just acquired in myself. I was at a good place in my life where I was content, hopeful, and my future felt promising. I'm pretty sure it was happiness I was feeling. Throughout life I had felt it here and there, of course, as we all do, at birthdays, fun times with friends, and vacations, but now I was feeling it all the time, even when I was down. Happiness reminded me of my humanity and encouraged me to feel but not to dwell; it waited for me on the other side of sadness, holding my hand like my mother did on my first day of school. Now I was grown and starting a new adventure with happiness in my heart.

There were about three people in the room when I got there; it was quiet and slightly unresponsive, but I felt welcomed and comfortable regardless. I was early, and many more people showed up after me. There were more men than women, with the women all dressed nicely, possessing their own individual style, while the men posed the same in their blacks and greys, tracksuits, and hoodies. Soon the room was filled with creatives; we were different but the same; maybe our souls were made of the same material, a material that forces empathy, intuition, and hope. And we were all there for the same reason: to create.

I was motivated and determined; I knew what I wanted out of this course; I wanted to learn and collaborate with other creatives to find clarity on where to start and what to do with my ideas. I was focused on that mission. I went up to introduce myself, the faces staring at me with anticipation. Will she sound the way she looks? Does she have good ideas? Is she interesting?. I forgot about the perception; I didn't care what they may think, and I didn't let their eyes manipulate my words or outcomes. My heart holding my hand, I spoke with assurance; I said this is me; this is who I am; this is what I like. I received applause and a gaze from a man sitting front row, slightly side on, so his body was more or less facing me. He was wearing a grey puffer coat; he looked like the colour of the sky on a sunless day, his face and body full of grey, big eyes that could penetrate a soul and turn it to dust. He looked moody and unpleasant, and in my head I said I would avoid him.

We sat down at tables, and he flocked to mine, the grey looming over me, tall and slim, intimidating features, the screwed face, and strong eyes. I ignored it and looked at everyone else. I had placed myself on a table with diverse characters: a confident fashionable lady with short hair at my left, a messy, greasy-haired mommas boy to my right, next to him a curly-haired moustache man with nice eyes, a pompous big mouthed man with a fat head, and him, opposite me, sharpening my round cheeks with his brittle gaze. I felt like he was carving me down, scraping my skin, and removing what body I had left. That was until he spoke.

He spoke to me; he asked me why I had chosen Dracula as a movie (the one I wrote about on the board when I went up to introduce myself, thinking nobody would notice) and why the 1931 version. I was surprised that anyone could read my awful handwriting or the fact that anyone had taken interest in my interests. He was kind and attentive, and he referred to me as Miss before he spoke.

My mind changed about him, and I began to think how funny it is that one day you meet someone on a random day who you suddenly have a connection with. It's so unexpected but such a strong feeling, like when you stub your toe; you never see it coming, but when it does, it hurts so much, and you can't remember what it felt like to not have stubbed your toe until it's over. This was like that, minus the pain. For the first couple of days, I didn't feel it, but as we talked, things became different.

He was cool, deep, and soft despite the tough exterior. We texted and talked about films; he always texted me first, and he wanted to know what films I liked and how they made me feel; he wanted to know my soul. He liked my face and my mind. I was pleased that looks were not his main motivation when it came to me; after all, looks are not who we are, just what we are given, so I was comfortable with his intentions.

I had thought too soon. For on the third day he was telling me about his manhood and the damage that would be done to me due to the size and how he imagined how I looked under my coat. I was disappointed but not surprised; he's a man after all; they all want the same thing no matter how much they compliment your soul. I vowed then to avoid this man, to not encourage his behavior as I sometimes do when attention is given to me. And that is what I thought it was, the attention. That is why I was drawn to him; it was because he was complimenting me and showing me affection, not because I liked him back; I discovered I didn't really find him attractive.

Looks didn't matter to me; I used that as an excuse to avoid him. I told him that I just wanted to be friends, expecting him to stop talking to me. I was wrong and surprised. He apologized for making me uncomfortable, said he would stop, and continued to express his interest in me. What I liked to do, what I liked to eat, my favourite colour, my family, my loves, my fears. And he was genuinely interested; I could see it in his eyes—the way they were completely fixated on me when I was talking about something and how deeply he was involved in what I was saying. He wanted to hear me speak about the things that interested me, and he wanted to know why they interested me; he just wanted to know me. It was all in the eyes.

The days passed and we grew closer. The other people started to notice as we cowered behind a tree to talk, just the two of us, about what we were doing later and when we were free to hang out alone. We were always interrupted, and it seemed that our only way of being alone was over the phone, where we would talk for a while before he had to go. He was busy with his music and me with my writing; we were both artists—a passionate and romantic mix, a soul connection, and a deep understanding of each other's minds. We talked about the world, what we loved about it, and what we hated. Did we believe in God? We weren't sure, but a higher power we were definite of.

We believed the same things and had the same thought patterns and mindsets; it was like we were the same person just in two very different bodies. We suspected we had been together in a past life or something like that; we knew we were connected somehow, and when we were together, it was just us. No one else was around—no sounds, no people, no wind, no movement—just the sound of our voices conversing and the movement of our hands caressing each other. It was like magic. unworldly.

And then the two weeks were up, and our routine of seeing each other every day cut short. We continued texting and calling most days, but it was only natural that life got in the way. Things change so quickly; nothing is ever consistent, and we got busy in our separate lives. The drift between us was subtle and happened quickly; replies became slower, and daily phone calls were no longer a thing; maybe a text once a week was all that came, and it was mutual, not one-sided; we both contributed to our separation. Maybe it was unintentional; in hindsight, we were both probably thinking the same thing. 'She's taking ages to respond to me, so I will take ages to respond to her' and 'He hasn't called me in three days, so I won't call him for three days'. And so this is the cycle of the connection we once had. We could've said screw this and been completely passionate about our strong feelings, and maybe we would've become something special, but our fears and insecurities blocked our hearts desires, and now the future is uncertain. Now I have a piece of myself missing, and I know he does too. Once something comes into your life, it's very hard to get rid of it; the feeling it stamps on the soul is forever.