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When I wake up, I’m no longer on the outside of this little sandwich. Instead, I’m the little piece of meat squeezed between two pretty pieces of very naked and sexy bread.
If soul mate means a person whose heart mirrors mine, a twin flame, so compatible that one cannot fully exist without the other, then without a doubt, he is mine.
We’ve always been best friends, but maybe that’s what best friends are—soul mates in disguise.
“Seriously, what kind of thirty-three-year-old man listens to Taylor Swift?” “Thirty-four,” I correct him. “Even worse, my friend.” “She just gets me,” I reply, turning it up so loud he winces. “I mean…listen to these lyrics. Straight from the heart.”
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