It’s hard to find somebody that loves every part of you, all factors considered

Was I born to love somebody? Or as the common question asks: is there such a thing as soulmates?

See the thing is, I’m a bit of a shapeshifter. I change form and mind constantly. Right now it feels like summer in my head, a bit of hope through the blinds and a kiss goodnight. I shape to unhealthy habits and become somebody I don’t know in the slightest, somebody happier than me. Somebody that is not me. Winter seems cold no matter where I am, I miss the moon during the warm day and the sun during the cold night. I get that you read a mess, that’s probably because I am. Word on the street is I have everything figured out. I’m fortitude through a storm. But I see these dark days where I don’t hide and the sun refuses to hit my face. I have bright days that make me dizzy and I hide in a bathroom stall with my hands on the door hiding from the lights. Most days I carry an umbrella, just in case. The days where I decide to leave it home, the skies open to tell me that I’m wrong, about everything I know. My life seems like a battle between my mind and what seems to be pure nature around me.

So I walk the days with an armor around me. I build my walls so high and my mind becomes so clouded. Because I don’t want to hear it. Because after all, what does it matter when people try to get knives out of your back? Because after all, what they want is to take their knife back and forget they ever carved the scars you carry around.

I hear I’m perfect and I see the answers so clearly, staring back at me. Does he know the scars in me? My past and my future collide in a single thought. Does anyone truly know me? The marks in my knuckles after an overwhelming day and the way I cry before I sleep. I think these are basic questions when deciding to take a step, because there might be a cliff or just the shore.That’s the problem I find. The stretch marks I’ve been carrying and the cuts I decided to carve out have more meaning to me than the things I hear. My mind glitches for a second and for just that second I think it doesn’t matter to them, it really doesn’t. But am I willing to find out?

So I resolve to not crave for the second my feet touch the water, because I am not willing to drown.

After all we are our own soulmates. Constantly loving ourselves even when we don’t understand, getting us through the rough nights. Maybe I was born to love myself and catching up with the pace of my own head, because there are so many voices I can’t ignore. To heal me of the migraines and the dark days. I read forty year olds that are still working on finding who they are and maybe we are all like this.

The estimated time I will live is sixty five years and it doesn’t seem enough. Between nature bringing the storms and the sunshine, is there really time to know who you are?

Because that’s all love is, constantly walking together and figuring it out, because my raw goal in life is to be completely happy with myself, with my glitches and tantrums. Wouldn’t it be too much to ask someone to do that for you? To love all of you unconditionally?

I believe I need two lives to figure this out, loving someone else. Is true love merely a reflection of what you would like to feel for yourself? Because if you don’t feel this towards yourself, could you really be able to stand anybody else, completely?

If the answer is no, like it is for me. What does that leave you with? Because my theory is flawed but I can’t fight the evidence. Does this mean my parents, and for that matter, your parents don’t really know each other?

Do we really live enough to answer each of these questions?