The Little Pieces Of The Magnificent Puzzle of Fate

[MessengerOfDreams]

You again.

It's a funny, complicated little Rube Goldberg machine, it is, that seems to trigger those rare moments, instances, events, those little jigsaw pieces that fit life together. It takes a rare talent to be able to see the grid for what it is. Are we fated? When we crossed paths did we walk into the inevitable crossfire that resulted in the world as we know it now? Are we simply following the map written for us in the stars? Is it bolder to stray from the path or to face what is ahead of us with bravery?

I suppose I flew into you at a random occurrence like paper airplanes crossing paths. You'd always scrape just by me, then you'd fly out of sight, and I figured it'd be the last time I saw your face. When I saw you again, I was always too stunned to react. I never expect it, even when you cross my mind every now and again. I figured you'd be a shadow in my background, a marvelous shadow, but never fully real.

I see you here, at the train station, once more, and I'm still as stunned as ever. Now it's clear, because you're not leaving and I'm not expecting you to. I'm covered in words you can't see, flushed red into my skin like notes tagged onto me. I don't know what to say, because this is a very delicate situation. One false word and you're gone again. I'm walking on a wire, and you're standing on a catapult.

I can't play the hero. I can't play the passionate romantic. I can't sweep you off your feet. I am nothing more than an imperfect stranger. I don't know if I even want to do that yet.

I don't want you to leave, though. You in the mystery I've left you in, your long brown hair, confident posture and your curious, focused attention. I don't want you to leave again and take all that with you.

It's 5:27. The train leaves at 5:30pm. It's parked outside here, waiting one of us. I don't have anywhere to go. I don't have a destination. You're a world away, though. Every moment is a million micro-moments and a million different options and only one of them follows the star map. The star map could lead me home alone again, or it could lead me somewhere else.

I can't read the star map. I don't have that sort of talent.

So, like a paper airplane, I just fall and see if I can fly.

For the first time, I meet your eyes and say hello.

You return it with a crooked grin through chapped lips and your blue eyes shine just a bit.

When I fly, I won't be looking down below. I'll be looking above me, at the stars.

It's nice to meet you.