For starters, I spend a lot of time thinking about souls, like if I even have one or not. I've concluded that if I did, it would probably be older than dirt. That's what people who believe in souls tell me anyway, like when they grab my hands, look into my eyes and tell me that the chakra by my bunghole is red and that the one by my forehead is ultraviolet. I try to remind them that testing for radioactive decay on something ethereal like a soul is impossible, and therefore their appraisal is unverifiable. But then they usually just tell me I need to chill out more and do yoga, to which I tell them they shouldn't appropriate other people's cultures for personal gain.
I wonder a lot about my soul's characteristics, what it might sound like if I plugged it into an amplifier, if it's really the translucent paisley color I hope it is, or if it's the same soul I've had from when I was three or whenever, from when I had the cognitive capacity to envision that I have something inside of me that exists before and after I die other than my poop. I wonder if my soul has feelings. I wonder how much it would be worth on ebay, or if it believes in Jesus. I wonder if it ever doubts its own existence, or if it gets disappointed when I'm sad, or when I lie, or when I vote without doing all the research, or if it escapes a little when I sneeze. I wonder if my soul feels shortchanged for inheriting my body, or if it's proud to be my lifelong companion, even at those times when no one else is.
But even after thinking about all this, I don't know for certain whether I really have a soul or not, which is to say, I don't know if I could ever be your soulmate.
But I do know that life is absurd and that it's better with friends, and that I would love to be your new friend. We could keep it at that, and that would be awesome, or even hit it off well enough to someday discorporate together into the sunset.