Life’s a path of twists and turns we rarely understand,
A map without a compass, drawn by some unseen hand.
Yet somehow in the chaos, in the moments we don’t plan,
We stumble into magic we could never quite demand.

A stranger's smile, a missed delay, a road we didn’t see—
All ripple into stories marked by sweet serendipity.
The things we thought were lost for good, the dreams we tucked away,
Come dancing back in different clothes on some unexpected day.

A lesson in a heartbreak, a blessing in disguise,
A storm that clears the way to show new beauty in the skies.
It’s messy and it’s marvelous, it’s laughter mixed with pain,
It’s tears that water flowers we never thought would bloom again.

So here’s to fate with playful hands, to timing’s hidden grace,
To finding what we didn’t seek in some surprising place.
We may not always understand the "why" behind the ride,
But life has ways of showing up exactly when it's right.

With open hearts, we ride the waves, through every mystery—
And trust the rhythm of the wind, sweet serendipity.

Yesterday time stopped,
elephants didn’t fly
indifference still feels fine
but I didn’t retreat from this moment.

Now more than ever  
in my world,
in my existence.
I see, I still have the ability
to act, to live, to feel,
to not complain,
to not explain why I am like this.

When I met you
in reality,
simply shaking hands,
the human gaze
without a double mindset

I recognized that
serendipity would untangle
what remained muddled, and
I allow myself to choose simple trust
not to latibulate
even if it sounds a bit archaic.

a falling star,
drawn to another,
as if the universe
had always known.

Two souls, strangers yet familiar, cross paths in a fleeting moment—an unplanned glance in a bustling city. The air hums with a silent melody, an unspoken promise carried in a whispering breeze.

They collide in the rhythm of a passing crowd, their first words exchanged over an old, torn book at a café. She loves stories, he loves the way she tells them. Laughing, they fill the space between them with warmth, letting their hearts confess before their minds catch up.

But love, like an inked page, does not always follow the lines we expect.