There are nights you can’t tell between the sea and skyline, screaming “fuck this timeline” from the shore. There are days when the waves won't wash those coastal greys away. I was sat throwing stones, counting returning ripples. Chaining consequences back to me. A million trickling estuaries, a million galaxies. And I can’t calculate the odds we beat. More than all the stones that make the beach. A million possibilities, a million Alexs and Emilys. So let us call amnesty on every sunken memory, a million ripples make a wave tonight. I would say all those awkward anxious choices did us right. And I can’t calculate the odds we beat. More than all the waves that make the sea. A million possibilities, a million Alexs and Emilys alive. I can’t calculate the odds we beat. More than all the cells inside of me. A million possibilities, a million Alexs and Emilys.