I used to think that the identical arrangement of freckles on each of our left arms meant that maybe we were connected. Maybe we shared a similar constellation somewhere up in the sky with both our names on it. I thought our Libra moons would hold us together, balancing the distance between us on one scale with the weight of our two bodies together whenever we had the chance on the other scale. I realize now that my lucky number seven doesn’t mean you won’t leave me. I know that the freckles on my left arm haven’t touched anyone else since the day we met but that doesn’t mean yours haven’t been intertwined with hers while I was away. I have to start putting less fate in fate. I gave myself to fate too soon just as I gave myself to you and both times I got screwed. I’ve got to start moving more cautiously. Fate must be a man because it sure f***s like one.