I don’t really believe in tarots, but out of curiosity, I met with someone for a reading last year. I no longer remember most of what the cards foretold, except the last one: next year will be very, very different.
“How different?” I asked. But our session was coming to a close and Jake, the reader, wouldn’t pick another card. “It could be anything,” he said, and he left the statement hanging in ambiguity.
First half of 2017 came and went. If anything, my year only got duller. Nothing new was happening, or even if there was, I couldn’t classify it as “very, very different.” I eventually chalked the prediction as a sham, not knowing yet that it was about to come true.
She arrived in the middle of July. There were no fanfares, no red carpet entrance that could have given me any hint. I find it ironic how a beginning so utterly ordinary could turn into something completely unexpected.
It was not the most opportune of times, I admit. I was tied to someone else, and in a different way, so was she. I tried to ignore the fire in her eyes, but it consumed me nonetheless. She was nothing like the ones in my list, and I thought, what if this could be it?
I made the decision to dive for the free fall.
I’m still falling.
It was not easy letting go of the comfort of my previous relationship. The reasons to stay always felt heavier, even if it could just be as light as a sponge weighed down by the water of all our years together. But in the end, it was something I had to do.
The tarot was right, after all.
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