We all start as strangers, there is no doubt about that.
The choices that we make in terms of love are usually ones that seem to be inevitable anyway.
We will find people irrationally compelling. We will find souls made of the same stuff ours are. We will find classmates and partners and neighbors and family friends and cousins and sisters in our lives and we intersect in a way that makes them feel like they couldn’t have ever been separate. And this, this is lovely.
But the ease and access isn’t what we crave.
It isn’t what I’m writing about right now.
It isn’t what we revolve around and worry about after it’s gone.
We are all just waiting for another universe to collide with ours, to change what we can’t change ourselves. To fill us, to make us feel whole.
It’s interesting how afterwards, we realize that the storms always return to calm, but the stars will always be changed and we don’t choose whose collisions will change us.
We all start as strangers, but we often tend to forget that we also choose who ends up as a stranger too.