The Other Half

When God was running low on souls,

He must’ve split one down the middle —

gave you the spark, gave me the flame,

and whispered, “Go find each other someday.”

We were twelve and thought forever was easy.

Trading secrets in the dark,

cracking jokes like glass — sharp,

but always catching each other before the fall.

You were my dare and my calm,

my safe place and my chaos —

the one who knew what I meant

even when I couldn’t say it out loud.

We learned the world in tandem,

two hearts translating the same language of growing up.

And even now, when the years move fast,

you’re the echo of my favorite past.

You’ve seen every version of me —

the ugly crying, the overthinking,

the laughing-too-loud-at-nothing parts.

You never asked me to be smaller.

You never made me earn your love.

You just stayed.

When I drifted, when I doubted —

you stayed.

And maybe that’s what soulmates are:

not the ones who set your heart on fire,

but the ones who keep you warm when it burns out.

The ones who hold the line.

You are my once-in-a-lifetime,

the keeper of seventeen-year-old secrets,

my mirror and my map,

my proof that souls can come in pairs.

If I ever write a love song,

it won’t be for a fleeting spark —

it’ll be for the girl who grew up beside me,

the light that never went dark.