young wisdom

She said: sometimes we make our lives more complicated than they need to be.
She said: our life is borrowed; seize the moment.
If only I knew what I am to seize. Do I need to lay it down, let you flood my life, trust that I can swim, that I won't drown, that letting you in will wash away the pain? Or do I need to go where I've never gone before, towards that woman I can vaguely envision, larger than life, standing tall, not afraid of herself, once and for all? What do I need to seize? The chance to let your love transform me, or to grow alone in uncharted directions?
Some people have young wisdom, they see clearly and have the courage to follow their vision.
Me, I'm the worst of fools. I see me like a wild rosebush in the winter, meager and dry and overgrown; choking tight, in thorny twists and turns, the memories, pet fears, and beloved ghosts that hold me up. And I see the rose blooming in the center of my gut: larger than me, succulent, pulsating with red juicy life, warm as my heart and reaching for the sunshine.
But what will make the transformation? (Will I know it while I'm young?)