Tangled Strings

hand and strings

I envy those who accept that “love comes when you least expect it”, for they truly are the lucky ones; the hopeless ones; innocent enough to trust in coincidences. And so let me give a cautionary warning to the believers of fate: Please discard this letter I’ve written if you want to continue unquestioning your strokes of luck, because what I’m about to say will reveal the designs behind the magic you see, and you’ll learn that the gleam in your eyes could also turn to tears…

You may believe that love comes when you’re not looking for it; that it happens naturally due to the workings of a clock that finally ticked in your favor; that by some sheer correlation between you and the right exact moment love had found you. But let my tell you my dear, that love is more complicated and more complex than a simple chance encounter…. someone somewhere had stopped praying for love a long time ago and instead have taken it upon themselves to become the creators of their own narrative and write you in it. Love came when you least expected, but trust me not for the person who found you.

Hopeless romantics want to believe that a higher prophecy had destined them with their love, that independent of all of the plans and schemes of life, this was “meant to be”. Unfortunately my darling, sometimes love is not a graceful gift from the gods bestowed upon you and your lover under the alignment of stars but rather the device of an illusionist who designed the right moment at the right time to make you fall in love. They have been actively plotting for the perfect ploy to make you believe that by no force other than the inevitable you two were destined. With such certitude conceived by a grand artist how can I blame you for believing in magic and serendipity and god and art and beauty?
So if you’re one of the lucky ones, then you’re now lucky enough to know that someone out there had designed your grand coincidence and somehow by some way I pray that you won’t be as despondent when the magic fades and all that’s left are tangled strings.