Meant

What was meant to be, the quiet thread,
Weaving through days like soft, unseen wool,
Stitching our hopes into the cloth of fate,
Where every choice finds its rightful pull.

In corridors of time we walk hand‑in‑hand,
Guided by whispers that fate has spun,
Each step a promise, each sigh a sign—
The world aligns as the meant becomes one.

So let us trust the silent design,
Knowing that what was meant will ever shine.