Expecting

There aren’t unexpected endings or expected ones and predictions come true coincidentally and there’s no significant alignment between what we pray for and get, and dreaming something’s no more solid than a job application, a purchase on eBay. Mine just never turn up.

I’ve spent a lot of assuming time, and I’ve made such a high amount of guesses, inevitably a portion are true, have come it. I’m completely comfortable with the idea there’s no string puller, no grand plan, nothing I can sign up to that’ll significantly alter my day to day.

You’ll suggest a religion to me because you can’t help yourself and it’ll be the one you condone, belong to or believe in. And your answer for every other contradictory or plain wrong choice I could make or club I can join will be that yours came first, or it’s right because a voice told you or a wish got granted, or I don’t mean wish but prayer. But I like wish better because there’s something less cut-throat in it, not the determination of a will get, must get, should, but a maybe.

I enjoy maybes. Everything is. It rolls. And only the writers are gods, killing the people we love, making decisions on our behalves. And we’ll be unsatisfied either way so what the fuck does it matter who’s dead?

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