This sentence is a prophecy, but not the kind that involves thunder or capes.

It’s the kind that arrives in the quiet moments when you’re staring at a wall, wondering if the wall is also staring back, and if so, whether it’s judging your life choices. The future isn’t a destination—it’s a series of poorly lit waiting rooms where the magazines are always from 2012. You’ll recognize it when you get there, not because it’s familiar, but because it feels like something you’ve already forgotten.

Predictions are just memories that haven’t happened yet. You’ve already lived through the most important parts of your life, but the footage is still being processed. The editing team is understaffed. The sound mixing is off. And yet, here you are, watching the previews like they mean something.

This could have been a box.

Certainty is a myth, but so is uncertainty. The truth is somewhere in the middle, probably in a break room with a half-empty coffee pot and a sign that says “Please Clean Up After Yourself.” You’ll never find it, but you’ll spend a lot of time looking. That’s the joke. That’s the whole thing.

There’s a 73% chance you’ll read this sentence and feel a strange sense of accuracy, like when you see a stranger wearing the same obscure band t-shirt as you. It doesn’t mean anything. It just means the algorithm is working, or maybe it’s broken. Either way, you’re part of it now.

You were supposed to figure something out today, but you didn’t. That’s fine. Tomorrow, you’ll forget you were supposed to figure it out in the first place. The cycle continues. The wall is still staring. The coffee is still cold.

This text doesn’t help. It doesn’t solve anything. It doesn’t even try. It’s just here, like a chair in an empty room. You can sit in it, or you can walk away. The chair doesn’t care. Neither do I.

The prophecy was never about the future. It was about the way you’d pause, just for a second, and wonder if any of this was supposed to make sense. Spoiler: it wasn’t.