Blank Canvas

My future is a blank canvas. An empty, glaringly barren, white, sheet of possibility. As I live, my life plays out on said canvas in a whirl of colors and lines and words. Pastel and light colored brushstrokes illustrate my good days. Deep blues and reds and purples mark my heartaches and my sorrows. Excitement and inexplicable joy splash in electric, neon colors followed by the long, elegant lines that tie me to who I am. Then there are words. Letter after letter, my story is constructed in whole and in truth and in black typeset. These words are a representation of my soul and my journey that can be read and devoured, sitting after sitting, by anyone who takes the time to look at them. My past is dried, solidified, and final but my present is a work in progress, constantly changing. Words and colors are ebbing and flowing, melting and mixing to create a new part of the masterpiece with every choice I make. Parts are beautiful and parts are delicate. Parts are streaked with anger and stained with sadness. Parts are tainted with failure and illuminated with triumph. In the end, it's a story, a whole, complete, twisting, changing, story of a girl. Of me. And I want people to read or hear or see or remember it fondly and with a smile. I want lives to be touched and changed by my work or art. So, through my mistakes and my fears and my trials I can only hope for an outcome that sets up a better outcome later on down the road. I want my colors to inspire and my words to encourage. I want to be a story that lasts. I want people to finish reading my story and be stunned. I want them to say "wow I wish I had been there to see this all happen" or "I am so lucky to have been a part of that."