“According to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs, and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves.” – Plato

Love. What is it? Why do we all desire it, dream of it? When I say love, I mean romantic love. Eros. Regardless of preferences or sexual orientation, it’s safe to say we all long to find our “other half.” Someone that cares deeply for us, accepts us as we are, finds us attractive, fills our heart with joy and happiness but above all, that the feelings be mutual. We want a teammate in the rat race. Partner. Lover. Best friend. Our one true love.

I’m of the belief that you only have one true love, a lover different from the rest. This person comes into your life unannounced, uninvited, and without fanfare. One day, he/she enters and bam! He/She touches your soul in a way nobody else has, can, or ever will. There’s no explanation, no rhyme or reason. Logic isn’t part of the equation.

I met my true love on a warm, balmy, August night in 2003. As cliche as it may sound, I knew he was it the minute we locked eyes & he planted a quick, nervous kiss on my lips. He was wearing gray slacks, a light blue shirt, and slip-on Kenneth Cole shoes. He recently told me he still owns the shirt and knows exactly where in his closet it’s hanging. To honor the memory of that night, he won’t wear it anymore. I was wearing a short denim skirt, black t-shirt, & some kick ass Steve Madden wedge heels. I wore the shit out those shoes that summer. I pulled into a gas station, walked over to him, we looked at each other & he kissed me. That’s really how it happened, no BS. I’ve replayed that moment in my head a million times. That kiss erased all others before him & awoke a part of me that lay dormant for 26 years. How is it possible that my life changed forever in a matter of seconds? Why? Will I ever feel that rush again? That same night he informed me I was going to fall in love with him, want to bear his child, and wish to move to his home state – an hour away. I remember thinking he must be drunk. But maybe, maybe he felt that bam, also? His predictions were accurate. And for what it’s worth, I don’t think I’ll ever have a more amazing first date. I care not if a new guy flies me on a private jet to Paris (one my favorite cities) filled with purple roses (my favorite), while I sip on Nicolas Feuillatte Rosé (my favorite) as he performs mind blowing cunnilingus (I’m a perv, sorry) and gifts me all the designer shoes and bags my little heart desires. Nothing will ever top my gas station kiss from my other half. My friends have heard the story countless times but I’m never tired of telling it. It’s in the Top 10 Most Amazing Moments of My Life. Now that I think about it, he’s a part of a lot of those moments…

I love him. Deeply. Honestly. Passionately. I can’t imagine him not being a part of my life (we’ve tried). I can’t imagine spending my life with anyone else (I’ve tried that, too). When good things happen to me, he’s the first person I want to share it with. On the days when life is unfavorable to me, there are no other arms I long to seek comfort in than his. When I think of my future kids, I envision rambunctious, curly haired, caramel boys with his zest for life & his courageous, fearless spirit (and unfortunately, in NY Yankee garb). I love him. Selflessly. Patiently. Faithfully. I wish he could be part of my everyday life now. I wish he could see the young, insecure, sad girl’s transformation into a happy, confident woman. Demons slayed, bitches, go me! And yet, despite all my changes, one thing remains the same: I love him. I’m saddened when I eat his favorite foods and he’s not here to enjoy them. He’s the protagonist of all love songs, both new and old. I have seen him in his darkness and my love did not waiver; it grew stronger. Once upon a time, we were silly kids trying to impress one another and be the coolest. Today, we compare gray hairs and marvel that yes, it has been that long. He has been my birthday wish for the past 10 years and will surely remain so forever.

He loves me. It has taken me nearly 11 years to believe it, but I do now. I can tell when he looks at me, when he calls me at work and cheerfully says my name. He says my name like nobody else. Same 6 letters and 2 syllables but it sounds different when he says it. I am his rebellious comet soaring in the wind. He loves me. When I feel fat and ugly and when I feel skinny and pretty. When I’m hiding, he sees me. My dysfunctions and his dysfunctions play in perfect concert, like Mozart’s symphony #40. He’s flawless to me. He’s perfection perfected. He’s the smartest person I know (even if he always misspells the word ‘definitely’) and my favorite dance partner. He loves me. I feel it in his kiss and when he makes love to me. Time stands still. He conquers me and quiets my inner storms. He enters, seduces my mind, and fills my soul with blissful warmth. But, I feel his love most when he walks away from me and selflessly let’s me go time and time again.

We will never be, of this I am certain. At least not how I wish it. We will never share a home and fuss over mundane things. We will never spend holidays and birthdays together. I’ll never surprise him after a long day at the office with his favorite Puerto Rican stewed chicken or BBQ ribs. We will never get lost in the streets of Barcelona, or leave a love lock on The Ponts des Arts bridge in Paris, waste the days away on the beaches of Bora Bora, or spend the day in bed at the Qasr Al Sarab. I will never wait for him at the end of the aisle in an amazing, designer white dress (tight, lace, booty poppin’ like wha) and kick ass silver Louboutins. Those curly haired, caramel, Yankee loving boys will only live in my dreams.

Love. What is it? Is this it? Life. Why is it so unfair? Why must I endure this penitentiary of bittersweet pain of which I am an exemplary prisoner? I don’t know everything, but I know that he’s my soul mate, the other half Plato was talking about. I am his Manuela Saenz and he’s my Bolivar. When we bring down our walls, we’re best friends. I crave him in the most innocent and the most carnal, lascivious form. I crave to say good night and give him forehead kisses and to tell him I adore him when he feels at his worst. His heart speaks to me when words can’t be spoken. He is the warm house filled with delicious aromas of comfort food – that which you arrive to after trekking in a snow storm for hours. He’s home, he’s safety, he’s the missing piece of my complicated and beautiful puzzle.

I’m destined to trek in the snow storm, alone and incomplete. While it hurts like a death, I accept this and face this reality with absolute resignation and courage. And someday, our days on Earth will run out. Our story will cease to exist; gone with the wind like the dust from our expired bodies. But, unlike Manuela and Bolivar, we will leave no track, no trail, no evidence, and no shared legacy. The lovelorn will not relish and commiserate over our love letters. There will be no benches in our joint memory at a local hospital, church, or baseball park. Our cherished meeting places will bear witness to other lovers who hopefully make better choices than us. My only wish is that my days on Earth run out before his. I want not to know the pain of losing him forever.

I love him. Always. Forever. Infinity.