Soulmate

"He told me that I was perfect." She stares off at the sky. "He said that I was everything he wanted in a girl." She's sitting at a picnic table, the kind of thing you can get splinters from.

"Mmhmm." I sit with my legs crossed about a meter away on the ground. I reach down and grab a random blade of grass, twirling it.

"I was the right height, for starters." She's taller than me.

"He seems the type to be picky about that." I yank the unlucky blade of grass from the earth and bring it closer to my face for inspection.

"And he was into the blue eyes, brown hair sort of thing. He said that blonde was too popular, or something like that, and that brown made a dull eye colour." One of her eyes is bluer than the other, and her hair is just dark enough to count as 'brown'.

"I think his ex was a brunette, although I can't be sure about the eyes." I let the light breeze steal my prize, and then I reach back down to run my fingers over another blade.

"He was a hockey addict too. He told me that he couldn't live with anyone who wasn't." She likes hockey, but it's not her favourite sport.

"His brother's a goalie. It's a family thing." I have dirt jammed in my fingernails.

"He liked to sculpt stuff. He said I had a keen eye, and he liked that I could appreciate his abstract swirls." She's a genius with contemporary art, but her talent lies mainly in painting, in photography, in colour.

"Artists can be a bit self-absorbed," I comment, reasoning that they must be somewhat like writers.

"He said that my hair looked good up, and that he had always wanted someone with that classy, professional look." She only ties back her hair for practical purposes when doing stuff such as science labs or athletic activities, and not because she likes it that way.

"I like your hair." I rise and brush off my jeans. Dirt and grass fall back to the ground.

"I made muffins once and let him try one. He said that he would've liked it if I baked for him every week." Baking is something that she only does when she's frustrated. It helps her relax while feeling productive.

"They must've been great muffins, but it's not fair of him to expect you to do that. Excessive expectations can ruin a good thing." I take a few steps forwards and sit down next to her, taking care not to touch the rough wood with my bare hands.

"He had a lot of wounds. He said that I distracted him from his regrets, and that he could use that." She's a bit of a natural healer. I've never met anyone more agreeable or better at comforting others.

"He probably wasn't lying about needing you then." I start swinging my right leg back and forth, my other one propped up on my right knee.

"He said that we were soulmates. He loved me because he thought that I was meant for him. He wasn't really a bad guy, but…" She turns to look at me now, and her bright eyes are curious and full of questions, but she only asks the most important one. "Why do you love me?"

I'm playing with the dirty shoelaces of my sneaker. "I don't know," I mumble, "I guess I just like it when you smile." I twirl the grey string around my index finger. "You're kind of beautiful. I'd like to get to know you better." I frown, and then glance at her uncertainly. "But I'm not much of a visual artist. Is that okay?"