I found my first soulmate when I was in kindergarten. His name was Luca, and he didn’t go a day without crying on the playground. Through most of 2007 and part of 2008, tears never ceased to spill onto the cracked pavement of Grand Rapids Public Schools, and I never failed to interlace my fingers with his. Dressed like a field of flowers in my Hannah Anderson snow pants, he found comfort in my simple, yet love-drenched words. At five years old, I found my soulmate. 

Years later, I found my second soulmate. My bosom friend. My dearest playmate. The one who knew my ins and outs just as well as I did. With Erica, everything and anything was fun. In the summer, Lake Michigan was our very own private ocean, filled with secrets that only we knew. In the fall, we turned crunchy leaves into houses for fairies and, like witches, brewed potions to keep evil spirits at bay. In the winter, we played in the snow for hours and never got cold. In the spring, we danced in fountains and took our shoes off no matter where we went. At eight years old, I found my soulmate. 

Last summer, I found my third soulmate. He only uttered kindness, and he held the power to give others the feeling of ultimate importance. We read books on the sandy shores of Lake Michigan and climbed wet, slippery trees in the rain. Together, we witnessed the Northern lights and danced under a canopy of Christmas lights that didn’t belong in the forest but were there anyway. He showed me how to be together and how to be alone and how to be happy during both. At seventeen years old, I found my soulmate. 

Over the course of my seventeen and a half years of life on this earth, I have had three soulmates. Not all were lovers, but all were filled with love. Do I still talk to Luca? The answer, ultimately, is no. I don’t talk to any one of my soulmates anymore, actually. But I refuse to look at this as a negative thing. We did not stop speaking out of anger, or pride, or spite. We simply changed, and as we changed, we were no longer soulmates. 

Soulmates are not permanent. This, of course, is because people themselves are not permanent. People wander in and out of our lives for a reason. They appear to us during the times that we need them most, and once we learn something from them, they move on. There are so many lessons to be learned throughout this life, how can it be possible for just one person to teach us all of them? Life, nor friendships, are linear. This gives us the ability to not only cherish but to remember with fondness in place of bitterness. No matter how people leave us, painful or not, they go the way that they do for a reason. 

So, to all of my soulmates, past, present, and future, thank you. Thank you for showing me what it means to love and be loved. For teaching me how to care for others, but first, myself. For allowing me to mess up. For noticing my weirdness and being weird right alongside of me. For being a part of my life, and a part of me, for however long we had the privilege of knowing one another. Thank you.