Apparently this is called Stitchomancy. This is what got for my future:
happiness to another.
“Sweet human flower, wooed by my thought, kissed by my soul, oh my lily!” I cried, “untouched, untouchable upon thy stem, white, proud, fragrant, and solitary–“
“Enough, enough,” she said, smiling. “Speak to me of yourself; tell me everything.”
Then, beneath the swaying arch of quivering leaves, we had a long conversation, filled with interminable parentheses, subjects taken, dropped, and retaken, in which I told her my life and my occupations; I even described my apartment in Paris, for she wished to know everything
(It’s random but somehow still beautiful)