It's a bitter dance with fate. He twirls me and I reply by stepping on his toes, because I can't dance to such a foreign beat. And fate is whisking me away, moves unreliable and messy, barely better at dancing than I am.
This can't last forever. Eventually, we'll grow tired of the confusion and unpredictable moves each other will make. And we'll break away to take our own steps, off the dance floor and towards the buffet where we gorge ourselves on the future we choose for us. The things we know will be what we want. Fate cannot control us here, He cannot lead us away on a mystical journey going off into the misty evening. At least, not until we open our eyes and realize:
We always come back to the dancefloor. and Fate comes in many forms.