The letter that I have just written to my soulmate is one of optimism and hope.  I write it for a couple reasons.  One, I believe that the man is out there somewhere.  Two, I have been reminded of what it is like to be in love.

I am not in love at this time, it has been a few years now since I was in love.  But by sharing an anecdote, I remembered what it felt like.  The actual feeling when your heart is warmed by the other person, they take your breath away, the world dissolves, and it is just you and them.

He was my first love.  First loves never die.  I know I loved him, I loved him with all my heart, that is why it still hurts today.  I know both our hearts ache for each other.  He has told me in a manner that is less emotionally vulnerable than "my heart hurts".  He has told me that he misses me, that he thinks of me, that he thinks of the memories we share.  This is two years from the time that we made our last good memory together.  It hurts to know that he thinks of me still.  I think of him still, but I would like to think that both of our lives have moved past what we had.  For me, memories are still triggered everywhere.  Specific cars, sailboats, books, movies, places, people... sometimes I think I see him, but I know it is not true.  The world is cruel to me that way.  I see so many men that are his height, his hair color.  It makes my heart jump when I see the back of their heads, though, I know that it is not him.

I cannot be with him.  This is a fact.  I don't know if that fact is indifferent to time, or if it will yield after many years.  I also don't know the conditions of this fact.  Can I be near him?  Can I befriend him?  Will we ever be lovers again?  I highly doubt the last one.  I know we will both love each other, keep each other in our hearts forever, but for the same reason we separated, it will continue to be the reason for it.

Today, this night, I can forgive him.  I can forgive what he did to me.  He asked for my forgiveness two weeks ago.  I granted it then, but still held the pain of his actions against him.  I think now, I can move beyond what he did to me.  His actions were nothing of dire consequence, but they were actions of disrespect and malice none the less.  He wanted friendship.  I cannot grant that, not now, perhaps not ever.  To me, he was my first love.  Love, not friend, Love.  The kind that you read about in storybooks with princesses and princes, the kind that is supposed to make stories of high school sweethearts.  Once won over, princesses cannot back away from their prince and become just a member of their court.  And I doubt that princes will ever forget their fair maiden.

My soulmate is decidedly similar to my first love, that I am sure.  Perhaps not in certain particulars like height, demeanor, interests, or nationality, but he will instill the same feelings I had with my first.  I know it is possible.  I know that the men who have "courted" me since have not been the right one.

I don't get butterflies in my stomach as the others walk by.  I don't always want to be near them.  I don't always want to listen to their every word.  I don't feel the intense curiosity to know everything there is about them.  There was one man who, I guess, fits this description, but for one of the same reasons I could not be with my first love, I could not be with him either.  Distance.  I cannot be apart for extended amounts of time.  Two or three months is bearable, but more than that, I start to wonder if I shall ever be with them again.  If they love me.  It is not that I would ever cheat on them, but things start to feel different.  I need to have physical affection.  Even if it is just a hand on the shoulder.  I need reaffirmation that they are there for me, and that I can be there for them, not just in a morally supportive way, but in a I'll hold you while you cry way, a I'll make you dinner way.  I love caring words, but actions are much more powerful.  They keep me in love.

In a kind of quizzical way, I love my first love, but I am not in love with him.  Do you understand?  I know I have the capacity to be in love with him again, but I cannot feel it now.  I do not need the sexual actions to feel in love, but I need to know that their physical presence is possible.  I guess this begs the question- what does it mean to be in love?  To me, it means a few things.  It means wanting to be with the person whenever you are apart, it means to always want to be touching while you are together (I especially love holding hands and kissing), it means caring for them as if they were part of you (not putting them ahead of you, but establishing their needs as well), it means having a companionship, it means having someone who communicates well with you.  My definition is not too complex.  It establishes basically that being in love means having a passion about the other person.  Love by itself is a great thing as well, but it is all the caring and generosity, but without the deep burning passion for the person. You still care about them, like to stand near them, communicate with them, help them with their needs, but you don't have them perpetually on your mind, you don't equate them as an extension of yourself.

He did not understand this.  Perhaps when I told him, I did not understand it either.  I told him I loved him, but that I was no longer in love.  He told me I would regret saying that.  I still don't, but I can understand where he might have misunderstood me.  I think what I wasn't sure of, what I didn't tell him, was that I still wanted to be in love with him, but it hurts too much to be passionate about something you cannot have.  To think endlessly about someone you cannot touch.  It is like chasing a dream, a Pygmalion and his Galtea.  So I let him go.

It is better this way.  We separated because we lived across the country from each other.  In his mind, we separated because I fell in love with someone else.  That is false.  I tried to, but I couldn't.  I loved him too, but I was never in love with the second, and I doubt I ever could be.  I say loved because he does not seem to care about me any longer.  I would love him, but love is a two way street, to have a loving relationship, there must be love sent and recieved in both directions.

So you may ask: how can you be in love with your first?  I can confidently answer: because he still loves me too.  Had he remained with me in our city, I know we would still be together.  We probably would have broken up for a short period of time, then realized what a great mistake it was and become together again.  This boy was special to me, had he come along later in my life, I know we would be dating.  This boy wanted to marry me, he knew it within the first few months of dating me.  I wanted to marry him too.  His family almost expected us to marry.  I know his father thought so.  His father told him after our first date (his family came to the movies with us, making it fairly awkward, but gave me a great sense of family... plus we were only 14 and couldn't drive anywhere.)  He told him "She's the one."  How can a father speak so boldly about his son's newfound, newly discovered capability for love, that it should choose that one if he weren't so certain?

Oh, but what none of us knew was the heights this boy would reach.  His virtuosity lead him up the ladder of success, but away from me and the rest of those who loved him.  As most young people, he went to college.  Unlike most young people, he left before he could even rent rated-R movies by himself.  This was the force that struck us apart.  His virtuosity and genius were always elusive to me, I never quite grasped how spectacular he was.  To me, he was not a virtuoso, a prodigy, he was the one who held my hand, the one who made me sloppy omlettes.

I'm sorry, first love, for being unable to continue any form of a relationship.  Perhaps once I have found my soulmate, the one who I can be near for the rest of my life, maybe then, I can become a friend and leave those past memories behind with the niche you left behind filled by someone else.  I love you.