They say everything happens for a reason.

I used to believe that—
in a quiet, unquestioning way,
the kind of belief you carry
without ever needing to test it.

And then I met you.

Two strangers,
crossing at the exact right moment—
or the exact wrong one—
as if something unseen
had placed us in the same room
just to see what would happen.

There was no warning.
No sign of what you would become to me.

Just a beginning
that felt small at first—
like all beginnings do.

But somewhere between chance
and something that felt like fate,
we collided in a way
that didn’t need explanation.

Our bodies spoke easily—
like they had known each other before,
like they didn’t need permission
to understand.

And maybe that was the point.

Not to stay.
Not to build something lasting.
But to meet—
to feel—
to recognize something in each other
without ever being meant to keep it.

And that’s the part
I can’t make sense of.

Because if everything happens for a reason,
what was this one for?

To remind me I can feel?
To show me what connection looks like
before taking it away?
To prove that something can be real
and still not be meant for me?

You’re somewhere out there now—
living your life
like I was just a passing moment.

And maybe I was.

But I can’t seem to place you
in the past
as easily as you’ve placed me.

And I wonder
if the reason was never
about us staying—

but about me learning
how to let go
of something that felt like it mattered.

JMS