Planning is fun, but chance alone is possessed of magic.
What maelstrom is formed when all carefully structured notions of next steps are instantaneously irrevocably shed, when a not-yet-planned but well-known potentiality takes matters into its own hands and actualizes? What, when a inkling of instinctual suspicion is confirmed, then
twice confirmed? What, when discovery makes two people dance their jitters in Gimhae's littered dusk; what, when they search out again the mysteries of each other's palpably known eyes; what, when perspectives implode and reform but daily routines must yet remain? What then forms that contains the joy and the irony the challenge the suspense the relief the improbable necessity?
Whatever thus forms in the heart, it better be ready to adapt to that which has formed, is forming, in the body.
We are 8 weeks in!
