Some don’t believe our souls are meant to find a mate.
That no matter what, we will be left utterly alone at the end of the day.
You have you and I have me.

Until you wake up and discover that all this time, every part of yourself you considered your own unique piece, your personal treasure – well, it doesn’t actually belong to you.
Because after all, who are we but reflections of all the beautiful things we see in the world; smeared and speckled slightly by dirt and grime we either attempt to clean or condemn.

And yet neither beauty nor ugliness would exist in complete isolation.
Myself and my soul are me because of you.
Every tiny little ray of goodness that exudes from you has become a part of me.
For the beauty of the world lies not in the hands of I; but rather can be found in the crux of every different strand of companionship.

The chapters you have written in my life are extraordinary and unrivalled.
And though the eroding forces of time may one day leave those pages yellowed and torn, the stories they tell have been permanently imprinted in the most precious depths of my memory.

Maybe I don’t believe in a higher power than that of ourselves, but somewhere within me resides the belief that sometimes true love has a way of finding its way back into our lives.
Back to the people and places where the most pure forms of bliss and happiness dug their deepest roots.