A fresh start is the weirdest thing, as if everything that happened to this point in time, was a prequel to what comes next. It feels as if that book closed and a new one opened, appearing one word after the other, yet slowly, as if they have a calmness the first volume never possessed. And they come as a natural music, as drops of rain upon a spreading leaf, chaotic and rhythmic all at once. And as these words form, in deepest blue dancing over a white page, they are as dance steps, my own motions, deliberate and intuitive, yet also guided by the ever present music. And this is the way of everything, the chaos, the synchrony, the guidance... and everything with a sprinkle of destiny. So long as I try my best, I am always where I am supposed to be, and there's a serenity in that, to always be a part of the best story I am able to write, to be a child of this universe, weaved into the fabric of creation.
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