I was a dreamy little kid. During the day, you could find me spaced out and staring at the wall instead of doing my work. Sometimes, in the middle of a conversation, I would wander off into a daydream. It was at night, though, that really sparked my imagination. I'd stare out my window and watch the stars and occasional blink of an airplane, and trace the shadows the lawn lights made on the trees with my hand.
    I can close my eyes now and still see what I used to see as a kid. I can practically imagine being 8 years old in my pink-striped nightgown, watching what I saw everyday turn into something completely different in the night. I would stay up until the wee hours just watching, watching, watching.
    One of my clearest memories is when I was in a phase that I was terrified of being alone at night. And by that I don't mean alone in my room. I mean alone in the sense that no one in the world was awake except for me. It was a pretty terrifying idea for a little bugger like me. If I tilted my head at just the right angle, at the farthest left corner of the window, I could see lights.
    A church, I decided. It must be a church that's open all night long, full of people and priests and prayers. I'm not alone, I realized. No matter how late at night it is, that church is still big and bright, so I must not be alone. I later learned at 11 years old that it wasn't a church, but the city lights sparkling from a distance. I would still occasionally stare out the window fondly, though, remembering and savoring the innocence of the little kid I once was.
    Ah, childhood.
    I now look out a different window to see the night now. As age has struck me, everything looks...different. It's the worst feeling, for everything to be different. And even though I'm living in a completely different place, in a different city, in a different state, everything didn't look quite the way it used to. The stars didn't shine as bright, and the shadows didn't seem quite right.
    What a terrible feeling.
    It all changed last night. I was sitting up in my bed when I realized that I was thirsty. Not thinking clearly, I decided to use the bathroom down the hall and fill my glass fromt he sink there.  As I went into the connecting room that led to it, I hazily looked out the window, and almost fell over.
    Suddenly, I was my 8 year old self again, staring at the same sky I saw so many years ago. The shadows, the stars, the sky, everythign that I had been missing fromt he night was suddenly back. I lay down on the couch and just stared at the sky that I had forgotten how to see, and cried.
    I know, I know.
    I'm a total sap.
    But the point I'm trying to make is that my childhood isn't completely gone. It never was, and never will be. I had just forgotten what it was like to look, to really look at the night sky. And for just half an hour, I was able to look at it the way I once did once more. When I finally got back to bed, I fell asleep almost instantly. What I had lost now was found. 
    I w
 
 
    I am currently working on a project that will either turn out to be a wild success or a major failure. Usually, when I try these project things, they end up being shoved into the darkest corner of my book case and forgotten for a milennia before I go through my stuff and find the half-thought-out-idea. It saddens me every time when I go through the numerous diaries, photography journals, and blogs that have been rejected due to my short attention span.
    But this one will be different.
    I promise.
    At this point, you're probably on the edge of your seat, just dying to know what my brilliant mind has come up with this time. Alright, you're probably not that excited. Maybe you're not excited at all, but that's okay. I'll just be excited for you. Because my new project is...
    *Drum Roll*
    Letters To Everyone.
    At this point, you're probably scratchign your head thinking, "What the heck is wrong with this person? What is this "Letters to Everyone" thing anyway? I've never heard of it. And frankly, I don't even care." Allow me the honors of explaining my (amazing) idea to you. 
    It all starts at the Paper Source.
    In case you don't know what it is, it's a store that sells a bunch of writing stuff (like notebooks) fun reads, and cheap little things that will be forgoteen in a 2-week period. Basically, it's the closest thing to heaven that I can find. Anyway, I was going through the notebooks trying to find one that would work for my friend's birthday present (That story is for another time) when I found the notebook of my dreams.
    There was the quote "We are the music makers of the world, and the dreamers of dreams" Plastered on the front cover next to an elephant holding a trumpet. Inside the notebook random pages would have inspiring quotes having to do with the artistic muse, dreams, and other things that made my poetic heart practically shriek with glee.
    Before I knew what I was doing, the notebook was on the check-out counter and I was clutching it in my arms, along with a few other items, such as my friend's birthday present. The minute I got home, I flopped down on my bed and stared at the notebook. I had no idea what do do with it. My mind started churning with ideas, but each of them were rejected.
    What about a diary?
    Umm, no. You know that the longest those things have lasted is 24 hours. Do you want that to go the same way? I think not.
    Hey, maybe this could be my new sketchbook!
    If you wanted a sketchbook, you would have gotten a sketchbook, not a notebook. There is a difference, you know. Next!
    All of this mental debating went on for about an hour, until I stumbled upon the perfect idea. What if I wrote letters to everyone I knew, full of confessions and memories and advice having to do with those people? The letters would never be sent, of course, but in the end, I would have my life's memories in the form of a letter. I must say, I was very proud of myself.
    So I picked up the pencil and began.
    Right now, the project looks like a success. Wish me luck as I desperately try to keep this going, because I think that I'll regret it if I don't (not to mention that the notebook deserves nothing other to be filled with words to the very last page).

UPDATE: Okay, so...the project went really really well for awhile, and then I lost the notebook. Well, more like I completely forgot about it and when I finally remembered, it was gone. Which really sucks. Oh, well. I told you that I wasn't good at these things.