My handwriting

The universe has my handwriting. Maybe none of this is a coincidence. Maybe all along we’ve been writing our lives in invisible ink across the sky, and the stars were just tracing us back in a story we forgot we were telling. Maybe every delay is really just a comma, not a full stop. Maybe the pauses between joy and misery are the universe catching its breath before continuing our sentences. There’s a kind of comfort in believing that the chaos knows our names, that the galaxies hum our melodies, that the moon has read our letters and kept them hidden in her craters. Sometimes, I look up and think the constellations are notes I once scribbled on the back of an old dream, before I knew how to survive. If I ever feel lost again, I’ll remember, the universe doesn’t forget its writers. And somewhere between the stars, my story keeps unfolding, in my own handwriting. The universe isn’t a stranger; it’s a letter I wrote and forgot to send. _ngcali writes_