The Soul Donor

There are moments in life that don’t announce their arrival. They slip through the cracks of ordinary days, taking root in silence and shadows. They don’t shout or warn, they simply are—a look that lingers too long, a goodbye that comes too quietly, a presence you never knew you’d crave until it’s gone.

This is a story about love, not the kind you find in fairytales or Sunday brunches. This is the kind of love that stumbles in when everything else is falling apart. The kind that doesn’t heal your wounds but climbs into the dark with you and holds your hand while you bleed.

This is a story about soul donors.

You don’t realise it at first. You think you’re just tired. Burnt out. Maybe you haven’t slept well. Maybe your coffee is off. But deep down, something’s missing. Something big. You start to notice that when people speak, the words don’t land anymore. You nod out of habit. You smile because you know how. But inside, there’s static.

It’s not depression, not exactly. It’s more like… absence. An emotional amputation you only notice when you reach for something and realise it’s not there anymore.

One day, you’re sitting on a bench in a park, staring at a tree that’s forgotten how to bloom, and you feel it. That overwhelming sense that something used to live inside you, and now it doesn’t.

That’s when they come.

Not in the form of a saviour or a knight or someone who “completes” you.

No.

They come quietly. They don’t knock. They don’t need to. They just sit down next to your silence and let it breathe.

They are your soul donor.

They won’t ask questions. They won’t rush your story. They’ll exist beside you the way stars exist—sometimes visible, sometimes hidden, but always there. They’ll send a message that says “Just checking in” without expecting an answer. They’ll hug you without words, just long enough for you to remember that touch is real.

You might push them away. You might test them—because when your soul has been bruised enough, even kindness starts to feel suspicious. But they’ll stay. Not to fix you. Not to save you.

Just to be.

You’ll have moments. Late-night calls that stretch into the quiet hours. Walks with no destination. Laughter that surprises you with its own sound. Moments when your ribs feel too tight because your chest is holding something again—feeling. And with every one of these moments, you get a little piece of yourself back.

Because that’s what they do, soul donors.

They give without taking.

But here’s the part no one tells you:

Soul donors don’t stay forever.

They’re not written into your lifetime contract. Some stay a year. Some stay a month. Some just pass through on a single rainy Tuesday when you almost didn’t get out of bed.

They’re not meant to stay. They’re meant to remind.

Remind you that you’re still here. That even when you’re lost, there’s still a pulse. That somewhere beneath the weight of everything, your soul is still whispering: Hold on. I’m not gone. I’m just hiding.

You’ll miss them when they go.

You’ll search for their presence in playlists, in old texts, in coffee cups and train seats. And it’ll hurt—because love always leaves fingerprints.

But slowly, something inside you will shift. You’ll find you’re smiling more often. You’ll reach out to others instead of retreating. You’ll be the one who checks in first.

And then, one day—quietly, without fanfare—you’ll see someone sitting alone. And something in you will ache at the familiar weight they carry. You won’t say much. You won’t need to.

You’ll sit beside them.

And you’ll become their soul donor.

Because love, real love—the kind that’s messy and raw and unfiltered—is the only thing that can truly give life back to a weary soul.

And once you’ve had that kind of love, once someone’s poured their light into you when you had none left…

You’ll never forget how to pass it on.

P.S.

If you’re reading this and you feel hollow, I want you to know—you don’t have to pretend to be okay. Not today. Not for me. Not for anyone. Just breathe. Just sit. Let the silence hold you. Somewhere out there, your soul donor is already on their way.

And when they come—don’t apologise for needing them.

Let them stay.

Even if just for a little while.