I wake up in a winter

Reading in a coffee shop

Quietly waiting for someone

I fly across the sea of time

To see who’s walking beside me

To hear the kind of conversations we’re having

If future can’t be planned

Then it must be chance that bought us together

A most beautiful accident

With moments that seems like eternity

A time when self is no longer the center

When weaknesses don’t have to be concealed

Who am I waiting?

Will I have the courage to speak my mind

When I meet you

(This poem is partly inspired by a long time friend’s beautiful comment reproduce below).

Chance is the beautiful uncertainty.

You can’t create it, nor it’s something that you can work on.

Fame, wealth and wisdom cannot guarantee the number of this happening

You can only wait, and hoping when it reveals its appearance you’d be able to see it.

You can always grab an opportunity, but never chance

You can distort its beauty if you try to push chance into the form of certitude

Or confide it into your own belief.

It’s totally helpless. Chance. It’s totally helpless.

-Po Ye