If life were a book, I'd hesitate to touch it

If life were a book, I'd hesitate to touch it, Standing on the edge of the shelf, fearing to discover, That the story is written in tears and deep shadows, I'd burn the pages with a match of extinguished memories. But fire doesn't erase, it only turns to ash, And the desire to read on is like a curse, For this book must be read to its end, And life, no matter how bitter, must be lived and felt. If life were a book, it would have no title, No word can encompass its entire essence, If life were a book, I don't know what I would change, For the unknown is the charm that binds me to it. A single word changed would rewrite everything, My story would be entirely different, without a doubt, Even if it's bitter, I wouldn't give up the people in it, I embrace the good with the bad, for that's how it must be. But what if the bad is too much and hard to bear? What if the good isn't worth the pain it brings? What if the good isn't good enough for my soul? The questions flow like a river, winding through fields of longing. I wish I could choose a life perfect like a novel, With a happy ending and a moral, with gentle ups and downs, Perfection is a dream no one reaches, Yet everyone tries to live it, seek it, create it. In the flow of my consciousness, endless questions stream, Where each thought is a chapter I haven't written, Dreams are pages I've never turned, But the hope of finding the answer keeps me awake. Until then, I continue to read, to live, to dream, To hope that one day, life will wear the desired light, And that I'll find meaning in the unwritten words, For each day is a new page, a beginning.