The threads of fate are disorganised and free,
                                   no confines of expectations to hold them,
          each living person a loom, weaving possibilities,
                                           intertwining chances,
    unpredictability,
                                                     and tragedy...

Not a single plan conforms to the threads of fate, and one day, what nobody will see coming, is a marvelous tapestry of fortune.

"You know what makes every story pretty?" he asked.

"What?"

"Unpredictability. One day, I don't even know how your hands feel; the next, they are all I ever want to hold."

"You know what makes unpredictability pretty?"

"What?" he asked.

*"That your every syncopated heartbeat is my love story."