The Myth of One Soulmate

How I learned that forever doesn’t always mean together.

Love came in fragments, and I learned to call it whole.

Some people believe you only get one great love — one person whose soul is made to mirror your own.

I used to believe that too.

Now I know better. Some loves arrive to awaken you. Some to unmake you. Some to remind you that you can still feel at all.

I’ve met more than one. And I’ve loved them all differently — like seasons, like chapters, like ghosts.

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The College One

He was a coincidence that felt like prophecy. We met in a way that shouldn’t have happened — wrong time, wrong circumstances — everything about it written in red flags, yet it felt like we’d known each other in another life.

It was an affair of sorts, but it never felt wrong. It felt fated. Like the universe slipped up and let us cross paths just once to see what might happen.

We spoke a language no one else could hear. Every look was a confession. Every touch was a prayer. We were star-crossed — burning too hot, too fast, but so bright that it made everything else look dim.
I have never loved anyone that completely, that recklessly, that truly.

But this wasn’t some Taylor Swift love story. There was no fairytale ending, no cinematic reunion in the rain. Just two people who found something impossible and lost it just as beautifully.

He was the kind of love that breaks you open — not cruelly, but honestly. He taught me that some soulmates aren’t meant to stay; they’re meant to remind you what it means to be alive before the world makes you careful again.

There’s a kind of silence that only follows the most sacred heartbreaks — the ones that don’t end, they just fade into the bloodstream. He lives there still.

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The New Orleans One

He was the love that came dressed as forever but unraveled like a slow truth.
I believed in him — in his potential, his goodness, the version of himself he swore he’d become. I built around that version, convinced that love could be the thing that made him rise.

Instead, I became a stepmom before I was ready — taking on his twin daughters, his chaos, his debt — a whole life that wasn’t mine but became mine by default.

I dealt with the kind of drama that only ever seems to find women who love too deeply: baby mama chaos, unpaid bills, an ex in Texas who didn’t understand the word “over.”

I fought for him harder than he fought for himself. I took on his weight until I could no longer stand. He mistook my strength for stability, my forgiveness for comfort.

But even in the wreckage, there was light. His mother and those twin girls became my family in ways blood couldn’t explain.

And from that storm came the love of my life — my son. My greatest reason. My proof that even from something broken, something extraordinary can be born.

He taught me that not every soulmate is meant to meet you where you are — some are meant to show you what it costs to carry someone who refuses to stand on their own.

That love isn’t a partnership when it feels like parenting. And that sometimes, the person you thought was your destiny is just the vessel that delivers your purpose.

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The One Who Came Twice

He was my beginning — the under-18 love that made everything feel cinematic. We were too young to understand the depth of what we had. We clung to each other like proof that love could fix the mess around us. He was gentle when the world was not.

Years later, he came back — older, steadier, everything I used to wish for. But I was different by then. He wanted to love me peacefully, and I didn’t know how to accept peace without suspecting it was temporary.

He was both the first and the last reminder that love without chaos is still love — I just hadn’t learned how to trust it yet.

He taught me that timing is the cruelest teacher — that even when love returns, sometimes you’ve already outgrown the version of yourself it remembers.

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Now I believe we meet soulmates like milestones — each one carrying the lesson we weren’t ready to learn before.

Some teach you passion, some teach you boundaries, and some teach you how to finally stop running from yourself.

Not all soulmates are lovers. Some are mirrors. Some are storms. Some are prayers answered in disguise.

I don’t believe in “the one” anymore. I believe in the ones who shape us — who leave fingerprints on the soul and proof that love, even when it ends, was never wasted.

Because love doesn’t disappear. It transforms.
And sometimes, the most eternal love is the one that cannot stay.

So I wonder — were they ever soulmates at all?
Or are soulmates the people we find versions of home in, even when love has nothing to do with it?