I am a quiet pilgrim of chance, Sent wandering without a map. I possess no voice, and speak in symbols. No will, yet I choose a path. I am the little architecture of fate, I keep my secrets beneath my skin. When fortune loosens its invisible hand, I tumble between what might have been. I have no memory of where I fall, Yet strangers find meaning in my rest. A moment ago, I was possibility— A moment later, I have confessed. What am I?
B:33 < a die!
Gon~na go with a die.
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