The fates have seen fit to do stranger things than this:
Piecing together what otherwise may never have come to be,
Like the air that fits everywhere,
Unseen, but present still;
That which appears to be empty is, in truth,
Completely full,

But no one knows it.

If the pieces fit where they ought to,
Then it only makes sense that what follows is
What cannot be broken,
By time, by circumstance,
Unwillingness, reluctance.

Perhaps if there was a choice, if it could be decided upon, it would be different.

There is no choice;
Only the spark,
The one that only exists, at first,
As a break in the bend,
Unexpected,
Lit by something as easy as a look, a touch,
A whisper spoken on the wind.

Easy, you think, to lose yourself to something you don't understand.