There is this quiet place. It is where I am able to isolate the discords of the present and the past, where the past so adamantly tries to dissolve into fragments of the present. It is in this place where I often tear them apart, despite how hard they try to well up to the present together, time and time again, because they must never meet. But sometimes a little bit of the unconstrained past bubbles up to the surface, and a new version of the old chaos comes knocking at my door. Is this of my own accord? Is it because I have allowed the past to manifest in the present, an awkward legacy of my inability to keep it locked behind bars for all eternity? Then as I begin to accept my shortcomings, the universe begins to play its thirds set of cards on me.

This idea of a meddling hand in my life passes by me, unnoticed, quietly, the first time. A distinguishable pattern begins to form the second time, and presenting a set of cards more abusive than its predecessor. I came out less unscathed, but like the disbeliever, I am still skeptical. The third time presents itself in a less subtler way. Perhaps it is tired of quavering in anonymity, demanding that its name be up in neon lights. It plays its first hand in the third set. Once again, it is out to reduce me into nothingness. This time, I am more prudent. But my shortcomings may still be the bane of me. It is times like this that I am once again uncertain. The solace of realisations and the comfort of assurance is liberating. But it seems that I am back to square one. Is the universe toying with me? Or does it have plans that are parallel to me? Which is it? Or perhaps this is a figment of my imagination. Perhaps this is me, compensating my failings by creating a villain that only exists in the deepest recesses of my mind.

But lightning does not hit the same spot thrice.