I wrote this two years ago. I was naive, I thought life was about meeting your destiny.
He remembered how as a child this was his favorite dream, destiny. A force he should have been scared of, a wish he should have never made. But it wasn’t so consequential then. Destiny was something fascinating waiting to unfurl. For him to follow, discover, cherish. After all what could be bad with having a custom made path? A prewritten book of which he was a story, but not composed by him. What could be wrong with that?
It wasn’t until, that night, when he pondered why do some birds fall from their flight that he realized that if at the end of this page of their story, their flight is to crash, it will. Nothing will prevent them from it. They can take up a hundred different ways to try to sustain themselves, but they will fall. Because that’s what it’s like to have a prewritten story. No matter how many times you turn your hourglass and restart your chapter, all your versions will converge at one end, because this is the end that has been written for you. And that’s what it feels like to be a follower of that one, colossal destiny of which only a chapter had passed.
-2 years apart-
Now I understand. Destiny is bigger than us. Life is about the journey.
She had told him that falling wasn’t the worst part. But he couldn’t see how it wasn’t.
Atleast not until years later when he was at her place and he knew what she meant.
It wasn’t the fall that had consumed her, it was being stuck in the process. Going back and forth, back and forth trying a different outcome to the same course.
He knew if he didn’t find himself a different course, the process will consume him too.
-to be continued-