I have always liked taking chances. To me, the adventure is thrilling and nothing gives me more of a rush. I have no problem gambling with not only money but with shady directions, sketchy looking people and life in general. I’ve always been lucky. After a good round of Russian roulette, I always have enough money left for gas home, on a road that turned out to be a great detour with people I meet along the way that become good friends. I am a lucky girl.

But taking chances in love is something I’ve never done. Not fully.

I’d rather both my legs broke off cliff diving than dare bruise even a bit of my heart. That pain is something no morphine drip can ease away.

So why do it now?

Why auction up living the life in sunny California with the people I love and move to an unfamiliar corn field patch in the Midwest? Why? I am asking myself this exact question tonight.

Simple answer - because I love him.

Complicated answer - I need to know if love really is enough. I want to know how much love it takes to make people stay together no matter what. I need to feel out of my element. I want to be stripped and built back up again then see who was there to gather those pieces of me together. I want to see the leaves and my perspective on life change colors, die and rebloom again. I don’t want to have to wait another season to know my heart. I need to know the Story of Us. I want it to include where we stand and where we are going. I want to be certain now. For these reasons and simply because I love you, I am taking chances. Big ones.

This time I’ve got the most important part of me on the line. All of it.