The Art of Living

I need more words
To describe my feelings
I need you to be here
To hold me and say it’s alright
The future is now
And I’m scared of growing
And getting too sure of
Where the character is going.
I’m not so sure of tomorrow
Or what it might bring
Because making something of worth
Is the art of living.
You’ve planted the seed
That I can look back on later
And laugh through the tears
Seeing the beauty that fate will cater.
The style of living
Isn’t the skill of each stroke of the brush
But what the picture means
When you step back and can’t touch.
I’m afraid of what I can’t do
And what I will do with what I can.
My flaws outnumber my gifts
And I wonder about the plan
That you might have for me
And what it includes
Because I’m more afraid
Of what the story exudes.
The tale is already written
And nothing can be erased.
So is it comedy or tragedy?
What ending will be placed?
How many chapters are there?
And will I fall in love?
The book is too high on the shelf.
Too many lofty thoughts from above.
Why can’t you tell me
What will happen tomorrow
And how to avoid
Any hurt, pain, or sorrow?
Will I ever find my delight
In the things I’m given by you?
Or will I just throw away
The masterpiece written so true?