knock on my door

Dear Soulmate,

As promised, I will share with you a story that I have kept safe and set aside from some of the other wonderful memories I have made in the past few weeks.

It happened on one of those few rare days on the coast of Maine, when the humidity and haze engulf the harbors in blankets of heat that can be felt in warm pockets upon crossing the bay. Despite that it was nearly 95 degrees out, I was dressed in jeans and a white button-down shirt–already prepared for the sun to sink west and take with it the day’s unbearable warmth.

It wasn’t long before I was standing on the dock beside him, holding his hand, waiting to board a boat that would take us to a restaurant on a nearby island.

In what seemed like moments later, we were sitting beside one another, sipping wine and sampling oysters on the half shell. I remember the breeze that lingered in through the open windows of the restaurant, offering a much anticipated relief to an otherwise uncomfortably hot day.

By the time we boarded the boat en route back to the mainland, the stars were sparkling overhead, illuminating the water in dancing specks of lights. He put his arm around me as we sat on the bench by the stern. I remember each moment unfold as easily and comfortably as his fingers interlaced with mine.

A few minutes later, a woman in her mid-60s approached us. She sat down on the vacant seat on the far corner of the bench where we were sitting. Without so much as an introduction, she said, “I just wanted to let you know that you two are beautiful–and you’re beautiful together, beautiful to watch. I couldn’t leave without saying so.”

I ducked out of the spotlight from the overhead stern light to find that not only had we caught her attention, but had been the focal point for most other people on the boat who were staring in our direction in silent agreement.

“Wherever you two go, please knock on my door in a few years–I want to see both of you together again.”

It was a simple statement, but one that I will remember forever.

She ended up giving us her address, and I doubt that him or I have forgotten it.

Love Love, R

a moment at the cove

Dear Soulmate,

I put on my running shoes Monday morning and let the rhythmn of my feet against the dirt road carry me a few miles down toward a familiar cove.

When I arrived, I stood breathless, watching the morning sun spill out over the calm bay. The water appeared smooth and silky in the morning glow that hovered through wispy layers of clouds overhead. I recalled the cove as it was the day before, when the sun was at its highest point in the sky and the rocky beach was decorated with two pinstriped towels–one for me and one for him.

So much has happened in the past few days… so much has changed but so much has stayed the same. I have so many stories to divulge… the first of which I will in the next post.

Cheers and Love Always… Always Love, R

smoothing the edges

Dear Soulmate,

I remember the way he said my name. I remember the songs that he told me reminded him of me. I remember the way he said he missed me. I remembered all these things as I sat at my desk this afternoon and stared blankly at my computer screen.

And then I could feel a wave of sadness wash over me the way the ocean breaks over a rocky coast–pouring into every crevice before withdrawing with the tide once more.

I wonder where love goes when it’s gone.  Two of my favorite quotes are from Washington Irving, who said, “There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are messengers of overwhelming grief… and unspeakable love.”

The other quote is slightly reminiscent of the solitary image of a lonely wave returning to the shore. “Love is never lost. If not reciprocated, it will flow back and soften and purify the heart.”

I thought of these things this weekend as I sat down by the water and watched the waves pour themselves over the seaweed covered rocks. They softened the landscape with their melancholy rhythm.

And so I waited for the tide to soften the sharp edges–as they do to sea glass. After all, whenever something is broken–be it a heart or a piece of glass–it is hardly beautiful at first. But after enough time has passed, the edges get softened and then a beautiful souvenir is revealed.

I’m not quite there yet–just waiting for the edges to smooth.

Love Love, R

one morning in maine

Dear Soulmate,

I woke up today to one of those beautifully quiet mornings in Maine. It was the kind of morning where the fog hovers over distant islands and enraptures them in mist.

As I was out running I couldn’t help but imagine them unveiled in the afternoon sun, their rich green coloring reflecting against the contrast of the blue sea. In my head I made out imaginary inlets and peninsulas, although I have memorized each point of every distant island by heart. In the fog though, you can create your own scene as if the horizon offers a blank canvas for you to paint upon.

This is when I think of you. There are so many uncertainties up ahead. I have no idea when and where or even if you will come into my life. I can only imagine the possibilities, where each road may lead. I cannot anticipate the moment when the fog will lift and I will see things more clearly.

But I am certain that it will. Just as the fog burns off into a more beautiful day–the sea dotted once more with triangular sails–there is the certainty that something beautiful lies in the unknown.

The secret is being content enough in the present not to the let the beauty of even a gray morning, leave you feeling like the future will be absent of color.

Love Love, R

p.s. be sure to check out your soulmate, your letter page soon for an upcoming letter! more words are on their way!

in no-man’s-land. literally.

Dear Soulmate,

Though I probably shouldn’t, seeing as I am at work, I can’t help but to write to you. For some reason I have already written several emails to friends and even some song lyrics to put some chords to when I get home.

I am not even sure anymore what I am trying to articulate with my words. I wonder sometimes how far they will go- how far they will take me.

Perhaps the beauty of writing is simple: it takes you places.

And right now I feel like I am standing in “no-man’s land.” As I was out running this morning I began to think about how ironic my actions were.

Why do I always feel like I am running from something and at the same time feeling like I am standing still?

When something is amiss in your life, the best advice is to change it. And I have. My life, up until this point, has been built around routine. It was always Maine in the summer and Boston in the winter. And with these seasonal transitions I would reunite with the same people.

But now, for the first time, I have no desire to go back to Maine. Instead, I have decided to stay in Boston where I have taken up a new summer job.  I have also met new people through an impromptu acting class I joined in the spring. I have plans to head to Dublin, Ireland in the fall to study for the semester. And I have spent a weekend in perhaps one of the most remote countries on Earth: Iceland.

So with all these changes… why do I still feel the same?

Love, R

gone too long

Dear Soulmate,

You know it’s going to be an off day when your coffee order doesn’t come out right. And after sitting in traffic for longer than necessary, I realized that my mood was getting progressively worse.

Not even my favorite album would suffice as an instant pick-me-up.

By the time I arrived to work I was feeling both a little discouraged and lonely. I walked into the office knowing that it was a beautiful day outside, but I would be spending it inside.

There are places I go in my mind that are as forlorn as the most barren field in winter. These are the kinds of places most people rarely access as they know there is nothing there for them. And though I knew there was nothing in it for me, I went there anyway. In my mind it was winter- cold, stark, lonely winter.

What provoked this desolate feeling of lonliness was knowing that Memorial Day weekend is approaching. This used to be my favorite time of the year. It was the weekend that meant the launching of boats back into the water, and the beginning of another perfectly wonderful season.

But this year it is different. Seems I have lost people in my life who were the ones that made returning to Maine on Memorial Day weekend so meaningful. Some of these casualties were caused by unaccepted apologies that left me feeling misunderstood. Others were because of the words I didn’t say, the things I didn’t do. And one person I lost was because they say if you love someone, to let them go.

And though I have never understood that expression, I am learning now that when you let someone you love go, part of you goes with them

Seems I have been gone for too long.

Love, R

the green light

Dear Soulmate,

Where are you? This is the question I ask myself when I suddenly feel hopeless and have doubts that you actually exist.

In my first class this morning I heard someone call my name from the row behind me. I turned around to see a face I knew I recognized, but was unsure where I was the last time I saw him.

Then he mentioned my street name, in Maine. And then memories of starlit nights, warm sunny days, laughter with old friends, and the belief that things would always remain the same suddenly came back to me. And then, just like that, I was in love all over again.

And when I asked who he hung out with the most up in Maine, he mentioned the name of my most memorable and epic love- the one who had a change of heart, who left me with so many unanswered questions, words left unsaid, and sleepless nights.

There are 6 billion people in this world. What are the odds that in my 9 a.m. class that I would hear his name and then be dragged right back to square one?

I think I’ll move to Australia.

If all we are taught is to move on, to leave things behind, then how can we ever say we are really living at all? Isn’t the past where we look to, as a reference of learned lessons and a place where happiness and love used to be?

F. Scott Fitzgerald got it right in The Great Gatsby- we beat on boats against the current, borne ceaselessly back into the past.

How beautifully cruel.

Love, R

p.s. i’d love to hear your story. check out the new page “your soulmate, your letter” http://letters2soulmate.wordpress.com/your-soulmate-your-letter/

peace of mind

Dear Soulmate,

If meteorologists get it right this time then we are in for quite the snow storm. Or if you are a like me and desensitized by New England’s seasonal snow squalls, then we are in for a mere “dusting.”

footprints in the snow

Right now though, the view from my window looks promising for a blizzard ripe with the potential for dumping a foot of snow on Boston.

This is not the kind of snowfall that is terribly romantic. Rather than fall delicately it instead swirls around, lost in the biting wind before finally settling on the pavement- much to a shovler’s dismay.

White out conditions remind me a lot of the fog. My mind lingers back to that mysterious lingering mist that hangs over the islands in Maine where the pine trees cast errie silhoutetes.

In the midst of winter, I am reminded of summer.

It is in this same fog and whitewash where I feel slightly trapped but slightly comforted. The beauty of this contraditiction is felt in the silence I feel in both situations.

When it snows, the city silences itself. Traffic becomes less frequent and even walking down an unshoevled sidewalk feels like trespassing. The city pauses for a few moments to breathe.

When the fog rolls in boats drop their sails. The once windy bay is motioness, calm and untouched like a mirror.

Both of these scenarios lend me tremendous peace of mind. But more importantly when I am standing on the dock of a fog shrouded harbor or walking down city streets blanketed by fresh snow, I find forgiveness for things I cannot change.

The fog and snow teach you to look at the present moment, neither ahead nor behind. The restricted visibility allow you to concentrate on the here and now.

So I wonder, why aren’t you here now?

All my love, R