The secret lines in your palm, burnt in, engraved carefully – the messengers of your destiny. You believe it, or not; everything is there. Maybe you don’t understand the secret signs, but you are like an open book for me. I can read in you as if an unconscious voice of yours talked to me voluntarily. The signs, mounts and wrinkles in your palms tell me your destiny and your secrets. Your future as well. Your secret longings and fears are also there, written down one after the other. The lines of the not decided things, like a map; you can go both this way and that … and the immovable statues of the unalterable ones.
There’s a whole world in your hand, you, yourself is in your palm; drawn into the soft skin you carry your fate on you. The chronicle and prediction march from your fingertips to your wrist. The heart line and the course of your life are there, and that how many years are before you. Things hidden in the depth of your body suddenly come to light as you open your hand. I can tell from only one look that who you are and what the purpose of your life is. That what hurts you, what tortures you and what lies ahead of you. I know even those things which you don’t know yourself. I know you, understand you, I read you from your palm.
Your past, future and present; everything is there, in one palm. Colossal powers, almighty artists sketched their masterpiece into your skin, and the work of art is you, coming to life from your own palm. Still taking a shape, walking on your written way on the basis of the sketch. Not complete, not finished yet, but individual, an unsurpassable masterwork.
