There came a day when abject uncertainty knocked at my door. And what did I do? I closed it on his face. Before you jump to myriad imaginings of what came to pass, answer an irrelevant query. What is uncertainty for you? For me, uncertainties are when icy cold fingers clasp my hands and shake me out of my stupor, push me to see realities I would rather not see. Uncertainties are following my beaten down, weather withered instinct. Uncertainties are loosing track of should haves in could haves. When the screens turn a refined and opaque grey, what would you anticipate to retrieve from the debris of bygones? Uncertainties. Or maybe not. So I did close the door on his face. But just before walking away, there came this brief spell of what ifs. I did tiptoe back to where he was, still standing at the ramparts. Was it mystery or flamboyant lack of it that made me want to. I honestly couldn't say. Could I ever be certain of uncertainties that he would bring along? Moreover, would I wish to test the possibilities? Mayhaps, only time would tell. You know when the mountain breeze grazes the surface and spread the chill, it is then that the uncertainties are bound to spill.
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