I am not the type of person who knows exactly what I want to do with my life. My chameleon mind soars in and out of different realities, different scenarios. I have a flighty wonder tucked between my sheets, knit within my pillowcase. Choice is a fairytale that surges within my veins, prompting me to want one thing when the sun rises, and another when it rests. I will always be uncertain of the world inside my chest.
See, I am not the type of person who will ever know what they want for breakfast, or what kind of candy to pick at a convenience store. It will take me twenty minutes to figure out what appetizer I desire during a night out; I will order three cocktails just to try them all. Forgive me, for I am not the type of person who can choose a dress to wear on a first date, nor will I be able to agree on the words I think I want to say.
I am not the type of person who knows where I will be in a month, in a year. My heart beats faster when I think about the possibility of becoming a stranger in so many towns, a nomad in this game of life. There are days that make me want to leave, pack up my things and surrender to the world; but there are moments that plead me to stay, there are moments that beg for me to rest my bones and firmly believe that I deserve to plant my feet.
And yet,
despite it all,
I am certain of you.
I am certain of you on a calm Sunday, on a discouraging Monday. I am certain of you through our ups and through our downs, through our celebrations and our fights. I am certain of you; of your loyalty and your ability to love even the most precarious parts of me. I am certain of your nature, I am certain of your strength. I cannot promise that I will ever be able to decide which movie to watch on a brisk winter day, or what to get your parents for their anniversary. I cannot promise that I will know where I want to settle down, or how to put my restlessness at bay, but I can promise you one thing:
I am certain of you.
I will stay. 
