Every person has, will have or has had a soulmate. It was and is the way the universe worked. Someone or some people were destined for you. It may not have just one person, because you can love more than one person, but everyone had at least one.
And the mark left on your skin, the one that identified your soul mate was their birthdate. The day, month, year they were born. Either on your wrist or your arm. Either way, it was there.
And if you had more than one soul mate, they were stacked, one on top of the other. But the birthdates weren't the only way to tell you had a soulmate. There was also the emotional and physical pull.
A soulmate would feel their other half's emotions, only when they were strong enough, and if the pain was great enough, they would feel the same pain.
The soulmate would be emotionally and physically drawn to their other half. A strong desire to go down the street to where your soulmate may be, or even farther. The pull would lead you.
July 4th, 1918.
March 10th, 1917.
Those were the dates on my wrists. And when I was born, in a dry, hot summer of 1993, the doctors and my parents were surprised. And horrified. How could a baby have soulmates that were 76 and 75 years old? How could the universe give a baby mates that she would have no future with?
I was pitied for these dates. I was pitied and mocked. It was the worst when I was in high school. I tried to keep my dates covered as best as possible, because the mocking was unbearable.
I was told that I would be marrying old crippled men. I was told that I would get a year with them if I was lucky. I was told that I was going to be a little sugar baby. I was told that I was robbing the grave.
I felt unlucky. I felt cheated. And I felt bitter. I was bitter.
But I had no idea just how lucky I would truly become.