Unspoken Love and Broken Connections: A Tale of Twin Flames

Lately, L has been on my mind. A lot!

I’ve never been able to let the connection go despite us going our separate ways. I’m not someone who spends a lot of time in the past ruminating on things that didn’t pan out. If anything I spend most of my time fantasizing about the future.

So why can’t I seem to let the memory of her go?

How we met

It was the fall of 2020, and I was living in Southern Ontario, Canada.

The summer had been spectacular. Pandemic restrictions had been relaxed, allowing me to celebrate my birthday in style as well as sample a little of what the city had to offer.

I returned home on a Saturday afternoon after a delicious lunch of nachos and margaritas with friends. It was unseasonably warm. I was looking forward to a long walk around my neighbourhood as I unlatched the gate leading into the backyard.

My housemate stood at the barbecue grilling kebabs while talking to a handsome man holding a beer. The American started chatting with me, light dancing in his blue eyes as he flashed a gentle smile.

Behind him sat a woman holding their eight-month-old son while their three-year-old daughter tore around the backyard with my housemate’s little boy.

After some small talk, a “hi,” and a nod in her direction, I excused myself to get changed and wandered into my basement apartment. As I headed off for my walk, they made their way next door with the kids for a swim.

The late afternoon turned into early evening and the three parents agreed that it was time to get the kids into their pyjamas and ready for bed. As we all stood in the driveway saying our goodbyes, L and I couldn’t stop talking.

With Baby B cradled in her arms, we sprinted from one topic to another, running our mouths and brains at a hundred miles an hour as if we had known each other for lifetimes.

As easy as one, two, three

We couldn’t wait to hang out again. She had been extremely isolated, having arrived in Canada with her family just before the shelter-in-place restrictions took effect.

The handsome American had been relocated to Canada from the US and had work and his colleagues for stimulation but L was lonely, unable to make many friends with two young kids at home and Covid restrictions making socializing difficult.

The three of us started hanging out at their place. L’s husband, a wonderful man and great father, would bathe the kids and put them to bed while L and I sat and chatted. We both needed that connection almost more than the air we breathed.

Every weekend, I walked the six minutes to their house where we settled into their basement and talked. They told me of their upbringings in the US, one from Virginia, one from Washington State, and I told them of mine in South Africa.

It was therapeutic and we looked forward to the next evening together.

L and I started running errands together on Mondays with the kids. We laughed, talked, and confided in each other about some of our struggles. It felt so natural, almost like we were a family. But we weren’t and I didn’t allow my mind to go there.

A few years ago, I wrote a piece about the gray area of being gay and how it affects lesbian relationships with both gay and straight women. In it, I mentioned that I don’t allow myself to entertain the notion of romantic relationships with straight friends.

“I’ll start off by saying that I don’t fall in love with straight women, and any battle-scarred lesbian will feel the same way.”

“I am not in the business of making anyone feel uncomfortable and am very adept at separating the love of friendship and the love of a partner.”

I looked at L as a friend — a happily married friend who I grew to love deeply. I adored her family and respected her husband for the good man he was.

That stubborn memory

One of my fondest memories of our time together was on a late autumn evening. I was at their place and she wanted to run to the store.

“Come with me,” she said with a smile.

“Okay,” I replied, thinking we would jump into the truck.

“No, let’s take the scooter.”

“O-kaaaaay,” I said with a little hesitation.

Despite having a 50cc motorbike when I was seventeen, I hadn’t had much experience on the back of one and wasn’t too sure of her choice. She handed me a helmet and gave me instructions — lean in the same direction she did and keep my feet on the footrests at all times.

I swung my leg over the seat and sat behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist. As we headed down the road, I leaned left and right, mirroring her movements as she took the turns and curves.

I was nervous about being on the back of a scooter but held on tightly, praying for our safety yet putting my trust in her completely.

I felt young and free with a sense of complete belonging on that fall evening as we laughed, the wind rushing past us as we zigzagged through traffic.

I never allowed myself to imagine dating or being with her. She was someone else’s wife and they were an amazing couple. I loved them both dearly.

The goodbye

In December I had to leave Canada as my temporary visa came to an end, so I decided to head back to South Africa and spend some time with my folks.

We both knew my time was running out and it was difficult for us both. The goodbye at the airport was brutal. I didn’t want to leave her and she didn’t want me to go.

“I love you,” I whispered as I hugged her goodbye.

“I love you too,” she replied, trying desperately to hold back tears.

I only planned to be gone three months but with the pandemic still raging, three soon turned to five and on to seven before I headed to Mexico, tired of waiting for the South African government to open up vaccinations to my age range.

It was during my time in South Africa that she said something that stuck with me.

“I think we’re twin flames,” she uttered during one of our calls.

“Me too,” I said quietly before moving the conversation to another subject.

I couldn’t entertain our potential love. I was in a bad mental and emotional space, missing home, missing her and unable to do anything about it.

We didn’t discuss it again.

A return to nothing

I got vaccinated in Playa Del Carmen and prepared to return to Canada after eleven long months of being gone, so excited about being reunited with my friend. I had missed her far too much.

Then the news came down. They had been relocated back to the US. She was so happy about going home and I couldn’t blame her.

Damn, I was going to miss her!

They left for the US two weeks before I touched down at Toronto Pearson Airport.

The excitement of finally returning home was marred by the loss. My evening walks after work took me past her old house and I stared longingly at the facade, wishing she was still there.

She stopped communicating with me and I was never able to get an answer as to why. My mind has run a dozen different scenarios since but I still don’t have any answers.

I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately for reasons I can’t quite understand. Instinctively, I feel she’s doing the same.

All I do know is that I miss the person who made sense of my world, the friend I never wanted to let go, and the woman I couldn’t have.

Please feel free to buy me a coffee if you like what you read.