I once read that there are karmic partners and there are the ones meant by fate.
And I keep getting karmic ones—one after another, as if they’re lined up like in a queue. These are the people the Universe sends us to learn life lessons. All sorts of scoundrels and narcissists, in one word.
They don’t care what you dream of, which direction you want to grow, or whether you want to be yourself—be comfortable with your appearance, love your habits and quirks.
Somebody who will accept you as their own is out there too—and you can’t figure out when or where that meeting will happen. The one meant by fate.
I’m only afraid of one thing: that we meet too late—when he reaches out his hand and I won’t believe.