Dear Young One,

There's so much you were longing for, and yet it was right there in arm's reach. I could tell you of things to come, maybe even some safe bets and the winning lottery numbers, but then would I be here? I've lived a long time, and the happiness you thought so foreign and distant, is just around the corner. Continue your patient but willful ways, and you'll be all right.

There is one thing I want you to do for me though, since I spent most nights thinking of this before falling asleep. Take all of your hate, fear, and sadness, and turn it into fuel. For every shouting match, tears soaked into your cheeks, and worries you've had, focus all that energy wasted into the things you love. Your writing, your job, your dog, and your friends. In the end, the only thing you'll have left to talk about at the senior league at the bowling alley on a Thursday morning is how much you miss all things you cannot do because of your mortal frailty.

I hope this letter has reached you in time. Otherwise, it will have been lost to the never ending continuation that is the place where things go when they're too late.

Signed,

Yourself, but a little smarter.