Maybe when we’re born, there is a hole in our heart, and it’s already a certain shape. Meanwhile, our personalities are like uncut keys, but every experience begins to whittle us away. (Leave us damaged?) And so, in our youth, we are able to fit into many hearts, or be fit into by many keys. But as we get older, the grooves and ridges become more unique, and eventually we can only unlock one heart, and be unlocked by one key. The “soulmate,” so to speak.
(Note: Statistically there’s probably more than one person with whom we fit, but still, a small number.)
I dunno, there’s something both comforting and yet also sad about the idea of a “perfect fit.”
Of course, it might all be a bunch of mumbo jumbo, lol.
(Also, can you become someone’s soulmate? Doesn’t love, the good kind, grow? So does it have to be “perfect” right away, or can it evolve into that?)
For me, stories often grow out of these random thought-question seeds. So I ponder these sorts of things all the time — and not just about love, but about everything. Love, greed, forgiveness, justice, death, etc. That’s normal, right?
(Andy says: “No.” Well, normal for a writer, then?)