Saudade

I was 7 years old when I learned what a soulmate was. I also learned that that was why, after long days of doing nothing but piano, I would be covered in cuts and bruises. Before you meet, soulmates can only feel the physical pain of the other, and any injury inflicted on one, will appear on the other. After finding each other, I was told that you could feel their emotional pain as well. As I had not met my soulmate yet, I didn't ponder on what this would mean. Instead, most of my thoughts surrounding soulmates were ones of annoyance. How could one kid get so many scratches? Did they not know how to take care of themselves? It was ridiculous, didn't they know that by hurting themselves, they were hurting me too? My seven-year old brain never liked rationality, and tended to be ruled by impulsiveness and emotion. As a way to vent how I was feeling, I would sit down at my piano that I've loved since I can remember, and I would play. I would play any sheet of music in front of me, and make it angry, frustrated. The notes were all sharp beginnings, and loud endings. I played like my soulmate was listening. Wanting them to understand how they made me feel. How I loathed their carelessness. How I hoped to never meet them. 

The first time I saw two soulmates find each other; I was 10 years old. They looked like teenagers, all gangly limbs and acne. A boy had fallen off his bike and twisted his ankle. The other boy, who was walking his dog, fell to the ground in obvious pain. He was clutching his ankle, just like Bike Boy. They didn't notice each other at first until Dog Boy seemingly got over the pain faster than Bike Boy. Dog Boy raised his head as he stood up, that's when he caught sight of Bike Boy. It was strange watching these total strangers make eye contact. It was like they saw no one else. Deciding I had had enough of watching people fall in love, I turned on my heel and left the park behind. Determined to not want that for myself. Later that night, one thing stuck out to me. My soulmate's pain always felt diluted, like their pain was a ripple in the water, and I only felt the last wave. Were they more compatible? I found out that the closer you are to your soulmate, the more their pain affects you. I played my piano after school that day, the music felt very soft, but the notes were still too sharp. I didn't want to meet through pain, but how else were we to meet? 

I had just turned 12, when everyone took a substantial liking to the idea of soulmates. Some people would purposefully do stupid things in the hope that they would meet their soulmate sooner. Some kids would give themselves little scratches in front of their crushes to see if they were meant to be. They never were. Late at night I found myself wondering what my soulmate would be like, how it would feel to be with someone you were destined for. On those nights, which were most, I would stumble my way to my piano. To play the one song I couldn't seem to get quite right. I desperately wanted to play this song with fire, but the notes weren't as harsh as they used to be. Instead, it came out sounding cluttered, the music was abrasive against my ears. The notes were soft and dainty, while the tempo remained fast-paced and brutal. It was a mess of what I was becoming, and what I used to be. And I was never one for change. 

Nothing had felt slower in my life than change. I knew it was coming, and it still surprised me with its force. The first time I felt excited to meet my soulmate; I had to sit down. Every 15 year old knew that this was the prime time to meet your soul-bound. I was still getting scratches all the time; most would appear on my knees and palms. These scrapes never lasted long, but they were replaced rather quickly. My paper cuts would always last longer. Always on the bend of a finger, splitting back open any time I so much as stretched my fingers. Because of this I believed it would be rather easy to spot my soulmate. Turns out I was very, very wrong. That never did stop my 15 year old self from looking around every corner with hope in their eyes though. I had long since stopped fighting my admiration for soulmates; it was refreshing. I was finally able to take a full breath of air that wasn't hindered by a foot on my chest. The times I played piano the best, were the times I would pretend my soulmate was listening. I would let my heart fall to my fingers, and the notes became my heartstrings. The music was a lullaby, as it flowed past my ears. The music was a homecoming, as my fingers danced over the keys. The music was my own.