Love Letter to an Imagined Soulmate

Well here it is, the weird little thing I wrote the other day.


I know you, my love; not your name, or where you live, or what you do. I don't know what you look like, or who your parents are, or what kind of music you listen to. Something tells me that, despite all of that, I would still recognize you if we passed on the street. Because I know the truth of you, the essence that lies beneath all of those things that we think make us who we are. I know the feel of you. Though we have never touched, there are times when I swear I can feel your hands on my skin. I don't know what your face looks like, but I have felt the sense of belonging that I would experience when looking into your eyes. I have never met you, maybe I never will meet you, maybe you don't even exist, but I have felt your arms around me as I fall asleep and known that I was home.

I can't actually decide if it's a poem, or an excerpt from a story that I will probably never tell, or exactly what the title proclaims it to be. Oh well.