They Always Are
Oct 7 2025
I don’t go looking for signs.
I don’t believe in portents, omens, or auguries.
And if things happen for a purpose
which I very much doubt
it’s not for me to know.
But still, they find me.
Or at least, looking back
the signs seem clear enough.
Because the human mind
is a pattern-finding machine,
connecting dots
like a map to the stars
in a clear night sky;
constellations, plain as day
you can’t unsee
once you’ve been shown.
Recurring patterns everywhere
if you look long and hard.
Some are even true.
But the oracles and mystics,
soothsayers, prophets, and seers
keep their predictions vague
forget how often they’re wrong.
And coincidence does happen.
Synchronicity
can be by accident.
And why can’t happenstance, good or bad
be as random as cards?
After all, you aren’t the centre of the universe,
the earth turns
indifferent to us.
Still, I swear I saw it coming.
Don’t tell me
we see what we want to see
what we expect.
The signs were there,
they always are.
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