Shape the way your fingers trace constellations on my skin,
Or the way your laughter lingers in my ribs,
A melody too human for its cold, calculated hands.
It could never script the way our eyes meet,
That silent understanding,
That unspoken language,
Too intricate for fate to weave into its fragile threads.
It tries—oh, how it tries—
To intervene, to twist, to break,
To reclaim us as its own.
Yet we slip through its grasp,
Like sand through clenched fists,
Like stardust escaping gravity.
Destiny waits in the shadows,
Silent, seething,
Cursing the love it did not create.
It watches as we carve our own fate,
As we step outside its lines,
As we make something greater
Than anything it ever dared to dream.
Destiny could never…
This poem personifies Destiny as an envious figure, powerless against the love my partner and I have created. While Destiny believes it controls all things, it watches in frustration as we build something it could never craft itself—love beyond its reach. The poem flows with jealousy, mirroring Destiny’s frustration, and abruptly cuts off to emphasize its helplessness, leaving the reader lingering on its unfulfilled desire.
(this is a continuation of the poem "The Jealousy of Destiny")
