Uncertainty is cruel. Mad are those who do not know. But must you be warned—certainty has its teeth. It bites without warning, and its jaw locks its grip, as it can never resist. The moment you know— those you love will leave, those passions will end, that your truth will carve itself— That’s when blood begins to spill. So, if uncertainty is a flickering candle waiting to be killed, Certainty, therefore, is man’s death penalty by the guillotine. Like a starving prophet, I once craved answers too, Begged Certainty like a god that would save me. It spoke to me: “This is who you are.” “This is what was lost.” “This will never be yours.” Like a starved prophet, I expressed my dismay, For I worshiped Certainty like a god that would save me. But in that church the truth was concealed— Certainty was nothing but a void of cowardice. Because Certainty means no undoing, no more “what if”s to cradle you to sleep. Because Certainty closes all your windows, and boards it shut with false absolutes. And so, I’ve learned to fear it— to flinch at its confidence, to grieve its arrival, to kill its offer. For once you know, You can’t unknow. And once you’re certain, There is no such thing as Hope.