Everyday I see his name scrawled on my skin. Everyday I am reminded of the love that should have been mine. Soulmates were a beautiful thing until they weren’t. Soulmates sperated by galaxies or by decades of time. The unlucky few who end up with those soulmates are destined to suffer and love them only through memories. Those lonley souls have been searching for ways to travel through time and space to find the ones their heart is intertwined with. I am one of those people, and we have finally found a way. It took decades of work to get here but we finally have built machines to travel though time and rockets to travel through space. All thats left now is to make sure they actually work. “Margret if you want to be the first to test this you need to gear up and get ready,”Rachel called opening up the machine that is supposed to take me back to my true love. The petticoats I am wearing feel heavy against my skin as I struggle to finish tying my cape. “Rachel these clothes are very difficult to out on. I am moving as fast as I can,”I groaned back straightening out the petticoats that adorned my body. “Oh trust me I do not envy you at all. I just want to make sure I have the right time and location put in the machine. 1775 New York right,”Rachel asked scanning over the machine that I was thepping into. “Yes that is correct. He should be in New York that year,”I replied looking down fondly at the name gracing my skin. I only hope I can prevent him from the fate that he met without me. Who knows maybe I’ll even become a first lady. “Ok say hello to the founding fathers for me, especially your soulmate. He better take good care of you,”Rachel yelled pushing buttons on the machine making it start rumbling. I took one final look at the world around me. This is going to be a big adjustment but it will all be worth it to meet him.

 It will all be worth it to love Alexander Hamilton.

139 feet.

I was so close. The magical ink on my hand told me where to go. I kept walking. Maybe he was looking for me too? My heart beating faster. I kept my eyes on the changing numbers on my hand.

55 feet 54 feet 53 feet 52 feet

I started running. Keeping my eyes on the blur of numbers. I was incredibly close. Compared to last week. When my wrist read, “9,349,035, feet” All my friends had there soulmates so close to them. The furthest besides mine was my friend Carly’s “937,489 feet” My wrist showed ten feet.

9 feet 8 feet 7 feet 6 feet 5 feet 4 feet 3 feet 2 feet 1 foot

I stopped. Looked around. I was in a graveyard? I looked on my wrist again.

“-1294 years”

I looked at the closest grave.

“John Everteen 2022-2044”

That was so long ago. He died at 22. Two years older than me.

Hannah suddenly woke up drenched in sweat, her heart racing. It all seemed so real to her, but also like it was a dream. It was dark out, so she looked at her alarm clock. It read 4:30. She walked to the kitchen for a glass of water, drinking it while standing at the kitchen sink, looking out to the rolling fields beyond the fence.

The moon was nearly full and she could see the low lying mist blanketing the gentle slopes of the hills, and what appeared to be the figure of a man. Hannah could see him walking closer to the old farmhouse that had been in her family for over one hundred years. Without looking away from the window, Hannah slowly opened the drawer next to the sink and pulled out her handgun.

Suddenly she realized she knew the man, but not from this lifetime. She had a chill come over her body, laying the gun down in its place in the drawer. She realized this was a man from her past. He had visited her before when she was a child but he was also child then. Hannah was living in the 1990's and this man was dressed in a navy Civil War uniform.

The name “James” suddenly formed on her lips, then she felt herself moving to the back door of the farmhouse. She pushed open the door, running down the steps, then to the gate at the fence. The man was about twenty-five feet from her.

They made eye contact and she let a whisper out, “James? Is that you?”

“Hannah, it’s me.”

I know I shouldn’t want this because it goes against every single rule in the rule book. And yeah, I’m not the kind of guy that follows the law to the letter, but when you’re literally breaking every single law, maybe it’s time to take a step back and ask - what the hell am I doing?

What the hell am I doing?

Well, since you asked, I’ll tell you. I’m falling in love with a boy from the past, which is very, very, bad.

Gosh, sorry, I’m making such a mess of this, let me start from the beginning.

I work for… I suppose you could call them the time police. We make sure time functions as it should and that no one goes off course etcetera, etcetera.

So one day we get reports of this mad-scientist, dramatically changing the course of history because his mad-experiments actually end up working. In all other times, his inventions backfire and kill him. Obviously, we’re called in to… well neutralise him.

Except… he’s smart. Except, he’s planned for something like this. Except he steals a time-travel pad and goes bouncing off into the future.

So now I’m hunting a fugitive. A fugitive who’s charismatic and clever and, yeah, a little bit crazy. But the longer I’m chasing him the more fun I’m having. And I’m learning all this stuff about him as he’s learning all this stuff about the future. Or my present, whatever.

And now I’m starting to doubt whether I should… whether I could… hurt him.

God, this is why I should keep daily mission logs, all this angst is tearing me apart.

This is Cadet Marcus, signing out, still wondering what the hell he’s doing.

Every night, I close my eyes to pay my soulmate a visit in his otherworldly garden. Some nights, I find him pensive and perched on a stone bench near the center fountain. On other nights, he’s trimming and clipping bushes along the great stone walls at the garden’s perimeter. Once, I found him sweetly sleeping under the strong thick elm tree branches wrapped in a wool blanket. We speak to each other like old friends, and he begs me to recount even the most boring details of my day. This is how it has been ever since I turned 16. He’s been my best friend, my confidante, a shoulder to cry on, all those cheesy things that teenagers say about the people they care about the most. But, we can feel things blossoming from friendship into something more. I know we both feel it. He has to feel it.

Tonight, I pace the bedroom floor in my silk pajamas hoping to summon up the courage to ask him all things that have been on my mind. It is the night of my eighteenth birthday after all. He owes me a present anyway. The thought of an ethereal gift exchange in the dreamscape brings a flurry of butterflies in my stomach and a smirk to my face. Enough stalling. I climb into my gigantic bed and beg sleep to cut through the anxiety and pull me into the garden.

“Good evening, princess,” his voice is especially musical and deep tonight. I scurry off to find him waiting in the arbor tunnel beneath the jasmine flowers.

“Hello,” I beam at him and reach out to touch his arm. It feels too real to be a dream. “Do you know what today is?”

“Of course, it’s your birthday! Happy birthday!” His hulking muscular arms pick me up gently to skip me playfully.

“Do you know what I want more than anything in the world?”

“What is it? Name it and we will dream it so.” His hands are still settled on my hips even though our spin under the stars is long since over. A breeze sends the scent of the place heavy upon us, and he pulls me just a little closer to shield me from the cold.

I look up at him through my lashes willing the words out of my lips, but they never come. I shuffle a little nervously, and he smiles. The breeze dies off and he tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear, and like a perfectly choreographed moment, he sinks his hand into my hair completely and pull me into the most perfect kiss. I loose myself completely in the moment, even my knees give way and he scoops me up gently against his body. Warms radiates from my core. When my shock wears away after a few seconds, I reach up and turn this lovely romantic moment into something more. This next part is where my anxiety has taken root. Will he shy away from me now?

I take my teeth and sink them into his lower lip then suck at it hard. I try to avoid eye contact, but the fire in his eyes is hard to miss. His body has stilled completely, clearly unsure of the next best move. I take the lead. It’s now or never. I pry open his lips with my tongue and get to work showing him how deeply I need him. Before long, he is returning my intensity. I am so pleasantly surprised that a soft smile and a little moan escape my lips into his mouth.

“Oh, little flower,” he moans back in reply.

A moment, or perhaps an eternity, later he sweeps me off my feet and carries me to that place beneath the elm tree. It’s the only place in the whole garden I have ever seen him sleep. We have never once met there. It always seem to be the most private space to him. When we arrive, I discover it has been decorated with hand tied bouquets, blankets, and jars of fireflies. He lays me down beneath those branches, planting a tender kiss on my forehead.

“I have waited so long to feel your kisses,” he half whispers, seemingly to himself. “It’s hard to believe it took until our last night in this incredible place to finally savor that moment.”

A deep panic sets in. “What are you talking about?”

“None of this is for forever,” he continues, now sitting with me and scanning my form with abandon. “I just want us to enjoy and soak in every detail. It’s too precious to lose.”

“I don’t understand,” tears well in my eyes now. “How can this be the last dream together?”

“It’s a curse, my love. It took us 16 years to find each other, so only two years were left to spend together.”

“Well, can’t we just find each other again? Like, in the real world this time?”

He runs his fingertips across my lips ever so softly now, but he won’t meet my teary gaze.

“I have been keeping a secret from you, flower,” he says, “and I have to come clean before we part. Do you remember when you told me how exciting it is to fall asleep each night because you knew you were on your way to me?”

I nod, completely unable to breath.

“Well, I don’t fall asleep to come meet you. Flower, I never leave this garden.”

“What does that mean? Of course you do. You tell me about your day each night.” Tears come hot and steady down my cheeks and he works feverishly to swipe them away. He cannot possibly say what I think he is going to say.

“I am already gone, flower.”

“No,” I choke. “You’re lying.”

“You know I’m not. You can feel its true. Can’t you?”

I shake my head to erase the image of my pain reflected back in his eyes. It’s true. We have never lid to each other in this place, even when feelings made things so incredibly difficult. I cry inconsolably now, and he wraps me up in his arms. I fit perfectly in his lap, but oh, what a terribly blissfully impermanent comfort it is to be here. Time passes like this for a while. Before I know it the sun is starting to color the sky above our little garden. A fresh panic sets in and I grab hold of him. I cannot lose him now. Especially now that I know the truth.

“You’ll have to let me go,” he says, running his fingers through my long dark hair. “You have a whole life waiting for you.”

I kiss him and shake my head no, no, no. I pull his hand to my cheek and nestle in trying to will us to be linked somehow.

He lifts my chin softly with his fingers so that my gaze must meet his, and now he’s welling up with tears at the sight of how close dawn is to the horizon. “You have been more heaven than a man like me deserves.”

Not a thousand years, not lifetimes Between you and I. Just 30 years And I see you As a teacher instead of a partner, as embers instead of a fire. All that passion you felt Ages ago, will never be spent on me. The fire that lit in your eyes then Won’t even smolder for me. No amount of shared joys or grief Quiet conversations or dinners Will rekindle it or span the gap of a generation Much less an era. How meager a love must reside in us That we would choose pleasing untruths With a living true love two doors down And thirty years away.

When In Love Two People See And Feel Each Others Spirit Also Life Will Bring A Tremendous Thrill No Matter What Happens Trials Will Come But Shall Pass As Long As The Love Between Two Is Honest And ForReal It’s Best To Believe That Nothing Will Stop Whatever Love Will Build

TEEDUB815

Eloise Gardner.

That is the name that popped up on my phone the second it turned midnight tonight. My eighteenth birthday.

Traditionally, when one officially becomes an adult (by law, at least), they receive the first and last name of their designated soulmate, who can reside anywhere in the world.

I, unfortunately, have never met an Eloise Gardner in my life, so I don't even know where to begin my search.

I stare at the name for what seems like a long time, but as I decide to rush to the phonebook and start there, the clock on my phone only reads 12:02.

Flipping through page after page, I have no luck so far. But she has to be in the phonebook, right? Everyone is.

I search for hours. I go through the book again and again— I look at every Eloise, every Gardner, every name on every page. And nothing. I refuse to lose hope.

The next morning, I decide to take my search elsewhere. I dig out my laptop and do the simplest thing that comes to mind: I Google her name. A few Eloise Gardners come up, but as I read their descriptions and look at their pictures, they are either much too old or much too young or simply don't feel right. When it's your soulmate, you know just by looking at them. It clicks.

Nothing clicks for me.

I spend the next several weeks leaned over my laptop, staring at the pages of newspapers and textbooks, watching every news channel I have access to. I just can't seem to find her.

A month into my search, a groundbreaking announcement hits the news: time travel has finally become possible.

I stare at the TV as the headline rolls across the screen in an endless loop, over a photograph of a woman smiling. She stands next to an awfully futuristic-looking machine, one I could never hope to learn how to use. Or be allowed to.

Then it dawns on me.

I sit straight up, the realization creeping in goosebumps up my spine. I've had no luck finding Eloise here, not in any country or any continent in the world. I have even gone so far as to look in history books, as if it would be possible my soulmate lived long ago. As if I would be so unlucky.

But what if it's not like that?

What if Eloise is from the future?

Some seventy years later, Eloise Gardner sits in a recliner, watching the hologram in front of her. It shows her the seconds ticking by, the countdown to her eighteenth birthday.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Her phone dings. She picks it up immediately, heart racing as the moment she's waited for her whole life comes to fruition.

Penelope Green.

Her soulmate.

For weeks, she goes through the exact same routine that, though she doesn't know it, Penelope Green went through so many years before her.

For weeks, she searches. Until it occurs to her that Penelope Green may not be living at the same time as she is. In the same life.

It's happened before. It isn't unheard of now, for a soulmate to be from the past or the future just as they might have been from the present.

So she extends her search.

And after a long week of bringing out dusty books that nobody bothers to touch anymore, and pouring over the internet day after day, she finds her.

Penelope M. Green died just eight years ago after a fatal heart attack in the comfort of her own home. Not married, no kids. Waiting for me, Eloise thinks.

There is one picture of her made available to the public, young and beautiful, bangs framing a soft heart-shaped face, on it the prettiest smile Eloise has ever seen.

This is her. This is definitely her.

Now it's only a matter of getting to her.

When Tim was seven years old he discovered who his soulmate was. He only discovered this because he was reading a children’s book based off of real events and one of the characters’ name glowed. It was the day he found out the name of his life partner and the day he connected the dots and discovered that his soulmate was long dead.

Tim cried for hours before settling down and hiding his vulnerability. He couldn’t tell anyone. His family, and the world, believed that if your soulmate died long before you were ever born you were cursed. So, Tim hid away and acted normal. He would tell his parents in time. Just… not for a few decades.

As life went on, and he kept lying to his parents, he became very successful. He took over his father’s shop and was able to import more items. Even food from a hundred miles away became his.

One day, while Tim was working in the shop, the largest man he had ever laid eyes on walked into his store.

He was at least seven feet tall. He had blond hair that went to his shoulders and sky blue eyes that almost shimmered. He was wearing a beautiful fox fur and golden trimming.

A feeling that could only be the universe leading them together caused Tim to ask,

“Hercules?”

The man’s eyes glowed.

The first time I saw him, we were twelve and I was asleep. He was beautiful, though not in a standard way— more ‘pretty’ than ‘handsome’, really, beautiful in the way a fish ought to be beautiful. He had blue eyes. When he spoke for the first time, he spoke like they speak in a dream— the sounds were like English, the accent was right, but the words had no meaning that I could discern. I’d always been a vivid dreamer. It was one of the best dreams I’d had thus far. The second time I saw him, we were sixteen and I was delirious with the flu. He was tall and delicate, with fine black hair that had grown longer since I’d last seen him. He stood behind a desk, looking nervous and even paler than usual. He had blue eyes. “Is this working?” He whispered, almost desperately, with a small laugh at the end. His accent was thick and impossible to place. “You speak!” I exclaimed through the drowsy haze of fever. He laughs again, a little louder this time. “I taught myself. It is old and strange. The ancient language.” I catch sight of a calendar—maybe?— on translucent blue film behind him. The date reads 12-24-1099AE. “What does that mean?” I slur dizzily, pointing behind him.” He glances back at the calendar. “It is… kel-in-dur. Your word. It shows time.” “No, what day is it?” He shakes his head. “I do not know the word in your days.” “Oh, ‘cause for me it’s November 4th 2012.” I slur with a dull smile. “I’m home sick.” He looks worried. “Sick? Do not some people in your time die of sick?” “Not a lot,” I reply. “Maybe in the real olden days.” “I will search it up.” He affirms with a sigh. “Please be safe. I hope you get better from sickness.” He sighs, muttering something that might be a swear word under his breath. I fall back asleep. Then I was seventeen and everyone was pairing off, couple-on-couple, as soulmates were found and plans were made. Everyone marries their soulmate, eventually. That’s just the way it works, I guess. I saw him as I was tossing and turning the night before exams. He wore a shimmering teal jacket and red eyeliner, unusually flattering on him. God, he was beautiful this time. He had blue eyes. “I have figured out something!” He says lightly, yet triumphantly, his accent not nearly as strong as it was a year ago. “We live about two to three millennia apart.” I feel cold all of a sudden. “You’re a time traveler?” He makes an odd face, impossible to interpret. “Not exactly. More of a dream-traveler… and I think you might be my… soul-mate?” We spend the rest of the morning talking. He’s really funny. His eyes sparkle when he laughs, but only when it’s genuine. He’s a bad liar, but an amazing mathematician. He draws really well, and he likes bugs, especially the colorful ones. His name is Khirid. He told me to call him Kieran if I can’t pronounce it, but I can. If he is my soulmate, I’m starting to think it isn’t such a bad thing.

I am eighty-nine and I’ve been seeing him for the good part of a century. I learned so much about him. If ever I loved someone who I will never hold, never kiss, never see or hear while I wake… it was Khirid. The boy with the blue eyes, who will be born more than two thousand years after I die and live more than three times as long as the people of my time. The last time I saw him, I was ninety-six and slipping into death. Through the last of my breath he came to me, hardly middle-aged despite his years which numbered twice that. The love of my life, I suppose. “Don’t go,” he said weakly. “Please.” “I would stay if I could,” I croak. “I would wait the three thousand years for you.” The last thing I see is his blue eyes. It’s the loveliest send-off I could have dreamed of.