People may support each other since they have the same dream. Or fight each other since they have the opposite belief. Which and every one of them bring about uncertainty.
We live by stepping above an uncertain land. We breath the air of probability. Yet we wish our wishes as a fulfillment.
We does not like our idea, our dream, our illusion being crushed by anything, even if it was a whispering wind of truth. We shall condemned it as a devilish trick plot by the arch devil himself. And our grandest idea is the upmost trust of truth.
We belive all that, until the day we hear the words of - I love you - from the other side of Styx river.