The catharsis that comes when the story rushes out
What we think is fate is just two neuroses knowing they are a perfect match.
This thing about fate, what is it?
So unlikely, it must be better than fate.
Sometimes I think life would be better lived in short sentences.
No explanation, no details. Just a few lines, and that is it.
But then again, what am I doing here? Artificial living?
This thing about fate, what is it?
This desperate will to believe that we have no control.
I suppose it's discomforting to think of ourselves as wandering neuroses, but why kid ourselves?
Is it not more magnificent to imagine another neurosis, just like your own,
Casuallly aligning itself with you?
So unlikely, it must be better than fate.
So unlikely, in fact, that it simply does not come by.
Except it does. it comes in the form of sentences.
Everywhere I read. Everywhere I write.
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