You could make mistakes when you lived together because you knew you'd wake up the next morning with another chance.

When the orbits of these two satellites of ours happened to cross paths, we could be together. Maybe even open our hearts to each other. But that was only for the briefest moment. In the next instant we'd be in absolute solitude. Until we burned up and became nothing.

E' la possibilità, non la garanzia, quella che mi fa andare avanti. Una specie di scomessa da parte mia. E chiamatemi pure pazzo, o sognatore o quel che vi pare, io credo che tutto sia possibile.

We met by chance, one split desiscion to turn right instead of left made no sense at the time but it felt right and then there was you.

We have all heard of these things before. The love letter arriving as the teacup falls. The guitar striking up as the last breath sounds out. I don't attribute it to God or to sentiment. Perhaps it's a chance. Or perhaps chance is just another way to try to convince ourselves that we are valuable.

We could have simply passed like ships in the night, with serendipity eluding us.