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
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