One's life can seem to change,
From exactly where it should be one moment,
To the next, being completely deranged,
With no one thing being different at all,
In the reality you can't alter,
But every periphery circumstance,
Painting everything an anxious colour,
As if there is one path for you to take,
And you have suddenly stepped off it,
And aren't sure you can find your way back.
Well, maybe there's no such thing as fated.
And is it alright,
To direct your life as per your instincts,
As if your mind knows the best place for you to be,
Regardless of what everybody else thinks?
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