The person who is perfectly matched to be yours for life. Although not born alongside, and made for you, they are said to be there, you just have to look for them, or find them.Usually you would want to marry this person, but sometimes your unfortunate enough to marry the wrong person. Your soul mate always understands you, and even if you don't always agree, you always get along. It is believed that every person who can give love has the potential to have a soul mate.

A soul mate will grow with you, and despite change you will always be connected, and will not grow apart. Both of you grow in a why that might not be together, but is compatable with each other (does that make sense?). If you give love, you will always recieve it in some other way or another.

I am a romantic and believe that everyone that is capable of love has a soul mate. If this wasn't true, what is the purpose of life. Love, in my mind anyways, is the reason that we are alive, to find love.

As two souls grow together, they strive for the ideal of being soul mates. Soul mates are made, not born. Your soul mate is not determinate, except perhaps in retrospect. There may be many potential soul mates for you in the world. The one with whom you choose to invest your time and love will become "the" soul mate for you.

The classical one, true soul mate seems to imply destiny, and discounts virtue in favor of luck. It propagates a view that the universe owes me love, rather than an "economy" where you reap what you sow, where the quality of love you find is comparable to that of the love you give.

Not everyone is a viable soul mate; if you're sufficiently nit-picky, no one is a viable soul mate! Relationships fall apart when one or both participants are unwilling or unable to maintain the relationship to their mutual satisfaction. If souls grow, we hope they grow together, but sometimes they grow apart.


Lives with his parents in a basement in Alpharetta.
He works nights delivering pizzas, does well
with tips. He’s going back to school, online
for now, one class at a time. He calls me
when he wants to use—once a week, sometimes
more. I answer as often as I can, which is not
often enough. I know sometimes he stops
at a gas station on his long drive home
from a shift, picks up a little baggie of Kratom,
and spends the night with us on Xbox Live
laughing and hardly slurring his words.
I forgive him for this, for whatever money
he owes me, lost now to the ether of friendship.
I am proud of him. I need to call and tell him
I’m sorry for everything.

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