Title Unreadable

I am modest. There's a regular woman sitting meters from me on the train. She is regular, she has an ass. The only thing, maybe not the only thing, that I want is to be relevant to her life for a few moments. And now that that's my job I have no excuse to sit here quiet, writing on a notebook. No. I know the chances of me burying my face in her ass are 3% if I interact with her, and that there is a 97% chance that the world will keep on spinning after that. Doesn't that reveal it all? What I'm afraid of, in every aspect of my life, is to move forward in one single direction. To make a controlled choice of where I want to be in three seconds, days, months, years, decades, hundreds of years. I want to not know, as if, even if I did think that I knew, I wouldn't know. Because things occur mysteriously. The root grows through where it happened by, until it thinks it made a choice to go through here or there. I'm afraid, as we all are, of having control, of taking a risk on things without risk. I like to think of myself as without ego. What a fraud. I've only been writing this so I have an excuse, so as to not take an action. I am determined because I am defeatist. And I feel bad, I feel bad because others are able to invent a justification to let the world pass them by. I have no excuse. I am still only a coward. And already for so long.