I can see her in my head as I ride over to her apartment complex on my bicycle. We met seven years ago when we were both freshmen. Going through all of high school together and both graduating as the class of 1976, I knew everything about her. I know that her favorite color is maroon, which she would wear almost every day. A printed picture of her favorite band, The Cure, was tapped to her locker. I would watch the picture fly up every time she opened the door because only the top of the picture was tapped down. All of the little things she did were things that anybody could notice, but I knew more. I knew everything about her because we were soulmates.

She moved away after high school. I knew she wanted me to go with her and per her request, I went. She didn’t have a house phone because her new job didn’t pay well so I couldn’t speak to her that much, but neither could anyone else. Since she just moved there and can’t call, none of her friends or family know exactly where her apartment is. I had her all to myself here. 

We would meet at the supermarket or the diner. It started out as me watching from afar but quickly turned into her sending messages to me secretly. She would bat her eyes in a flirty way to tell me she was thinking of me. If she wore black, she was telling me she loved me and maroon if she wanted to see me. As it being her favorite color, she wore it often, so I would sit on the fence of her apartment building and do exactly what she wanted me to do; I watched. 

However, with every couple comes fights, even with soulmates. She would get very furious that I was always around her, even though couples are supposed to spend time together. I just don’t think she understood how much I love her. It got very bad one night. Worse than usual because she got hysterical. She balled her fists as if she was mad but I knew she wasn’t.  She never got vicious, she was always such a sweet girl. She screamed that night - a lot. Nagging me to get out of her apartment.  I knew that was not what she wanted so I stayed and I calmed her down. She wouldn’t listen to me. But as soon as I explained my love for her, she quickly understood and never opened her mouth about the situation again. That was two years ago, and we haven’t had a fight since. Ever since that night, she has been isolated. I can’t complain about it. No more of her paranoid friends telling me to leave her alone or her family saying that I'm obsessed. They have never experienced the love that we have.

She had to quit her job because she wasn’t able to show up for work anymore. She was too busy spending time with me. I have to pay for her apartment’s rent but I don’t mind. That means that I can be in there with her as much as I please without anyone telling me I need to leave her alone. It’s not like she would tell me that anyways. Not after everything I have done for her.

As I pull my bike up to her apartment I get flustered to visit her. I walk through the fence of her apartment complex, the same one that I used to sit on. I make my way up to her floor. Now that we are closer than ever, I have the spare key. I unlock the door and there she is. Beautiful, quiet, and peaceful. She has slightly let herself go. She is cold and pallid and the smell of her makes my head twitch, but I yearn for her presence anyways. I walk over and tell her about my day. She listens to me like she always does. She loves to hear my stories. I stay there for a few hours until I have to go to work. When that time comes we say our goodbyes and how much we will miss each other. I head out of the building and as I make my way over to my bike, a piece of paper flies to my feet. It is a missing person poster. “Lilith Crimson; would now be 22 years of age; Black hair and green eyes; Missing for approximately two years”. I hate it when paranoid, lonely people try to rip me and my love apart. It is absolutely obscure.