Old year

She had a new year’s tradition. It was nothing fancy or showy, but it was important nevertheless.

What she did was, she sat down and thought about all the things that happened over the last year. In particular, those things that only ever happened because of some highly improbable set of circumstances, which nevertheless came into being. The last-minute changes of plans, the unexpected bumps-into, the serendipitous finds five seconds after having given up hope. The overheard pieces of conversation which turned out to be important. The books picked at random which now lived in her heart.

The year had not turned out as planned. And that was alright.

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