The Wall

I don’t know if I believe in signs, but I know I’m vulnerable to them. A coincidence. A song at the right time. A notebook of hers surfacing right when I needed one. A weird little alignment that hits the exact emotional nerve. Part of me wants to treat those moments like evidence. Part of me knows the brain is a pattern-detecting maniac when it’s desperate for continuity. Both parts live here. And honestly? I don’t fully care which one is right in the moment. Sometimes what matters is that the universe briefly felt less empty, even if my own mind did most of the work.