It was a winter night when the magic happens. The sky was an old auld lang syne before everything else vanished into a scarlet blue.

Dandelion was standing there, he seems like a mad man- with a cigarette in his lip, and a ferret wrapped in the other. It was the tenth night, and I still couldn’t figure out why- why would he visit a grave when no ones is buried inside of it.

The snow fell, heaved outside. Dandelion sipped another puff of cigarette - like its the last but never yet to come to an end. He stared, and stared - standing still like a Roman Statue in the middle of winter night. He sighed, crouched, and touched the gravestone tenderly.

With brow furrowed, hands oddly become tender while feet remain as a stone. "Gaaaahh" he screams, a pout showed up next. "Whatever, I’m going home!" He then walked away, stomping, loudly, irritadely, yet annoyingly cute (which is weird for a tall mid-age guy like him, very unfitting). A crow flew by and around, become a fitting sound for that winter night. There’s a glow on its wing, and a name on its mind. Who could it be? What does this one resemble to?

Absent-minded, Dandelion followed where the crow went. It felt like old nostalgia, archaic feeling you get similar to when you smell the old building where memories remain. This could be it. When he walked, you could see he’s limping. His left leg was not on its fittest condition, but he walked anyway. Strangely, the crow as if was willing to be tracked. It flew significantly low, like floating 1 metre above the ground, so Dandelion could easiliy went after. What’s next?

There’s a trace of magic that the crow left behind, it glows but if you wait for too long then it’ll disappear. Dandelion’s eyes slowly glow, a marks blinking  in his arms. Even when the cold start to reduce his life slowly, he insist to figure this one problem out. ‘what a weird crow’ he mumbled.

Long before Dandelion, no, the town happened, there used to be an urban legend called ‘Soulmate’. When someone, or something, draws or marks their skin with something, their soulmate will have the same mark. It glows, like the crow’s and Dandelion’s. But it’s a legend, a myth, nobody could say it’s real, like?

‘But seriously, a crow!? No way’ he thought, not out loud- he didn’t want the crow to find out. Few steps ahead and few flaps away; they arrive at this magical tree in one of the oldest building with a bunch of weird carvings there. The crow landed on of its branch, landed… and then one with the tree, it light up so bright. Do you know who they’ve become?

‘You’, Dandelion said, stuttered. He remembered a long way before, no, it was a dream… A dream where a hand was touching his gently, interlocking to his fingers. A safe place, while he was misunderstood in this world full of hypocrites, but the hand offered a warmth he did not know he needed it. He couldn’t see whose the hand belongs, but he knew when he see one. At least that’s what Dandelion thought when he saw what the crow has become.

A priest, with a gown and swirling light around it. A constant being, always exist as if time has been gone-forgotten, a space. Sometimes thing doesn’t add up, sometimes things didn’t come true, and yet this one. Dandelion asked this being in front of him, whose its feet barely touch the ground, "What’s your name? What should I call you? What… what are you?"

The priest did not answer but hushed, they put their finger on their lips. The eyes, o the glory of long forgotten summer! Hair was a winter morning, shady and crestfalling. While the body, elegantly sleek in the shape of perfect shadows, bless them. Dandelion confused, but as we already agreed, sometimes things did not add up it could literally blow your head away, even with a gracefullness. So Dandelion only raised his brows to their response.

A gentleness, like a breath of a blooming flower in early spring, they smile. ‘Does it matter, love? Don’t worry, every question will have its own answer, in its own way. Don’t worry, okay?’ they said to him, with head tilted to side and warmth caressing Dandelion’s cheeck- soothing his heart, his chest. They’re seeping some warmth into his cold heart, a heart that was tightened- dead cold. ‘How did you know? that this is what I needed? some warmth’ he whisper in his heart. ‘I always know, Dandelion’ they reply, without any sound coming out of their mouth- yet he can hear those words.

/I am old, Dandelion/
/Although, it doesn’t  really matter/
/You will always find me/
/Whether I exist or not/
/I always live/
/just as the tree and grass the ground/
/as the clouds and stars on the sky/
/as the waves crashing by the cliff/
/I exist, whether you’re aware of it or not/
/Love, will live,/
/There’s no time and space that could bind both of us/