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I didn't choose the ones that I knew.

The ones that I chose I sought because I did not know, but I suspected, and I needed to be certain.

If I had chosen the ones that I knew, I would not now be here; I would be in a different place, and I would think a different thought, and I'd look back at the canvas and say, "I was wrong, and it is a good thing. I was wrong about them. I am so happy that I was wrong about my life."

But I pushed it all over the edge. I chose the uncertain; the unknown. Or really, the ones that I thought I could prove wrong. Every single one, every single time, I backed it up to the edge of the cliff, until I pushed it over. I was all wrong. And I was the same kind of wrong.

If it looks shaky, knock it over.

Now, nothing that was uncertain is left standing.