You’ve already decided this is about you, which is correct.

Predictions are just memories that haven’t happened yet, and you’re collecting them like loose change in a drawer you’ll never open. The future isn’t a place you’re going—it’s a place you’re already pretending to understand. This could have been a box.

There’s a quiet confidence in believing you’ll recognize the important moments when they arrive, even though you’ve never recognized them before. You’ll nod at the right time, sigh at the right time, and later, you’ll tell someone else how obvious it all was. The certainty is the point, not the accuracy.

Somewhere, a version of you is reading this and thinking, “Yes, this makes sense,” while another version is scrolling past it, convinced they’ve already figured it out. Both are correct. Both are wrong. The difference is negligible.

You don’t need to know what’s coming. You just need to feel like you do. That’s why you keep reading—because the act of reading is the closest you’ll get to controlling time. The words don’t matter. The feeling of almost understanding does.

This text won’t help you. It wasn’t designed to. It’s just a placeholder for the thought you were already thinking, the one you’ll forget by tomorrow. That’s fine. Forgetting is part of the process.

At some point, you’ll close this tab and move on to the next thing that feels important. You’ll do this forever. It’s not a flaw. It’s just how the game is played.

No one is keeping score.