Dear Soulmate,

The world tells me you exist. Jewelry commercials, magazines, the occasional married couple. You are somewhere. There is only one of you, and that's the magic of it. You are one person and you live in Zimbabwe and I will find you someday with the help of that magic. Even if it means finding you while I'm married to my first, or perhaps inevitably my second, husband. I will find you and truth simultaneously, drop what I've lived for, and commit myself to you for all eternity. I will be happy forever, and it will be easy, because you will be happy too. So says the world.

No offense, Soulmate, but you are a crock.

A charlatan. An illusion. An accidental fraud. Accidental because I know you would be there for me if you could; your benevolence, though faux, is benevolent after all. But you're not there, and you can't be. You do not have the power.

Do you?

Here's the thing. The world is big. Mine is small. Mine will take a long time to grow. It has so far, and that is why I'm sure. Literature did not relocate my grandparents to better pave my trail to you. The media did not create property values and nationally acclaimed public schools. Word of mouth did not decide my grades, my major, my degree, my apartment, my career. They did not. Fate then, would argue that all of these option-narrowing circumstances have been supernaturally affected. Supernaturally, yes, but fate -- Fate is your best friend. You, dear Soulmate, have coffee with Fate on a weekly basis. You discuss ways to trip me up with pleasant, soulmatey fake-os. I try not to buy it.

Admit it. You're everywhere. You walk behind me in the halls and you make my burritos on Sunday afternoons. You will teach my World Issues class. You will sort library books over the summers. You read my blog but never comment. You've made your opinions of me without even showing your face. Then, Soulmate, we will have to clarify a few things.

Jesus Christ is your Savior. You have a passion. None of this "where the wind blows, everything's cool with me" nonsense. You have direction, and if you don't yet, you're praying for it. You're sober. You make me laugh until my eyes water, but you hate making me cry. You're taller than me, and your eyes are blue, green, and brown. Heck, your hair is long, curly, buzzed and silky straight. Do you see? Do you see that I've discovered you? Without even finding you, I've discovered you. You mean something to me, and you always have. I've known you for years, I love you now, I'll meet you tomorrow, and I hate your guts. You must ask Fate to do a better job. His bread crumbs led me astray, but your scent is too strong. The path isn't straight, and the fog in front of me is thicker than I'd like, but I thrust limbs into the clear with all of my might, that I might deck you, trip you, whatever. I will catch you, and of that I am also sure.

I hope you are watching for me. I hope I am a grand alternative to the soulmate the world has waiting for you. Because I am not your soulmate. Our souls have been promised to He whom we praise, and all that's left of me and of you is a heart or two. My heart will learn and live to love yours, and yours will wish never to be loved by another. We will grow in each other and occasionally meet people we would date if single. People as attractive, as hilarious, and as into The Magnetic Fields as we are. But I found you, and you found me, and the rest is, well...the future. A future as slim as our patience for one another sometimes but never as lonely. And in the name of that future, I would like to thank you for deceiving me for so long.

And just to let you know, birth names are changeable. My mom did it just last year. Yours is a misnomer, but there's hope.

Yours truly...at some point,

lucy