Dearest Lost Heart,

I wonder who will find this sometimes. These messages in metaphorical bottles, left to drift in the oceans of time. I don't know how I'll send this small book off. Perhaps I should put it in a bottle...

I got distracted. My apologies.

I have learned some things about myself recently that I wish I hadn't. I see in myself the things I wish I could hide I guess.

I am scared. So terribly and utterly scared. My fear isn't of something material either. Don't get me wrong, I'm as skittish around snakes and spiders as the next girl, but this is something larger. More complicated than a snake and potentially more dangerous than a spider.

The future.

You need to trust that I write truth when I say I blushed right down to my elk-skin boots writing those words. What a ridiculous fear! You can't see it, can't feel, touch, or smell it.

This is hopeless. Perhaps I should- no, no I have committed to this. There is no turning back. I shall see it through.

What is the future even?

Is it a monster who plays with us like tiny dolls? A cruel and shapeless form that could not care less?

Nobody knows what is to come. Is that why I fear it? The unknown?

If only I could rewind time to become a carefree child again, chasing butterflies and kittens.

The closer I come to leaving home as an adult, the more scared I become. What if I fall to my face and can't climb back up? What will happen if I step outside for my first adventure and tumble down the mountainside? All of this stress and worry for things that have not even happened. It's worse now that I've found the fear.

I have this problem where I don't move forward if I'm scared. The moment things get even slightly difficult, I lock up. I freeze like a opossum who's been spotted by a wolf, unable to move until the threat goes away or I am eaten.

Am I repeating myself? I feel that I am. I can't tell anymore. I barely know when I am awake or asleep. My life is always that question it seems.

I apologize in advance for any repetition and all of the digressions. My memory is horrible.

It's interesting really.

I am like you. One among millions. Yet we are so different and so alike at once.

I have lost my line of thought. Bother.

I can't remember what else I was going to write to you. Perhaps I shall sleep on it and it will return to me by morning.

Sincerely,

Misty