by Toni Kochensparger

I have this thing where I believe in fate because mistakes are guaranteed. By definition, they’re totally unavoidable. By definition, they’re impossible to predict, but they will happen. And so, there’s this little unreadable map of all your mistakes laid out on the table in front of you, just out of sight, demanding various responses and reactions from you as you age—steering you, truly. Leading you on a path until the end.

That’s a long way of saying two of my best friends fucked each other and now none of us hang out anymore.