Ah… Fate.

That which cannot be seen,
nor held,
nor summoned like other things—
It is the visitor that never announces its arrival
and never knocks twice.
Fate is unlike desire.
It does not obey our wishes.
It arrives, sometimes, as a cold coincidence—
and at other times,
in the heart of a loss we only understand
once the fire inside us has cooled.
It is not the justice we want to believe in,
nor the injustice we whisper through our tears.
It is an arrangement that defies logic—
crafted by a higher hand
that sees what we cannot
and knows what we are yet to learn.
Fate does not mean that everything that happens is good,
but that everything that happens
was meant to happen—
to shape us into who we were meant to be,
not who we wished to become.
It is the doors that closed
because we weren’t ready.
The faces that passed by
because they were never ours.
The meetings that never came
because time itself had not yet ripened.

Fate is not love.
Nor is it a dream.
It follows a different law—
one far beyond longing,
deeper than loss.
It arrives only
after everything we planned has fallen apart.
Then suddenly—quietly—
we find ourselves exactly where we once feared to be.
And somehow, we smile.
And understand, too late,
that some goodness arrives slowly,
and without explanation.
And then we sigh,
and simply say:
Fate.