There is such a thing as a sure thing. A thing your head or your heart can feel, and predict, and even guarantee.
Like the promise of hearing a song you've already heard a million times, and you know you'll only live to hear it one million more.
But the thing about a sure things, when another party is involved, with thoughts and feelings and wants, that thing that started out being so sure, suddenly becomes a maybe, perhaps, and ending with an I don't know.
I'd know a sure thing if I had one. Atleast my head knows that, it can tell what and whom I'm capable of having and harming.
But my heart, in an attempt to salvage itself and whatever pitiful peices remain, tells my head that every single one of those sure thoughts that I hold to be true, could not be. Ringing in doubts and questions making something that I was almost positive was true, into something thats only the sad shadow of what the truth could have been.
And I embarass myself, questioning these sure things. Because as soon as I'm no longer sure about the sureidness with which i had had, it seems that everyone can feel it, and breathe off of it. And find a way to independently function off of all the energy of my doubts.
And I'll catch myself in a free-spin fall back to earth, where gravity has surely done its duty to throw me into the grown with serious force.
And I wake up from the force of a sure thing, wondering what part of me I left up in the air and what part I took back with me, and was a sure thing really worth the risk at all?
