I’ve read the charts, I’ve heard the odds, Percentages preaching like lesser gods. They tell me love’s a risky bet, A losing hand I’ll surely regret. But numbers never held my hand, Never helped me understand Why one look can change a life, Or why we choose the edge of the knife. I don’t ignore what the figures say, I just don’t let them lead the way. Data can warn, but it can’t decide When to open up or when to hide. A story knows where the heartbeat fits, Between the flaws and the benefits. Truth arrives in narrative form— Dressed for the weather, not the norm. The brain wants something it can wear, Not raw conclusions in cold air. Stories wear better than statistics, Silk over steel, song over logistics. Give me a name, a face, a night— Not a curve that predicts the fight. We don’t deny what’s probabilistic, We just choose living, not mechanistic. Call it foolish, call it optimistic— Stories wear better than statistics. If meaning waited on perfect proof, Nothing human would get off the roof. A little plot, a little flair— That’s how we breathe the open air. Stories wear better than statistics, They bend with grace, not just physics. When love resists the spreadsheet tricks, We dress the truth in narratives. Frankly… I don’t live in margins. I live in the story.
