25

my ultimate fantasy is having a brain that lets me enjoy being alive

being in my 20s is like I understand more of my mother and less than i ever have. My childhood friends are strangers to me and there’s no one i know better. i want to drink wine. i never stopped wanting to climb trees. i know more than I’ve ever known before. I don’t know anything at all. i’m seven years old and sixteen and twenty nine and seventy. I can’t tell when i'm happy. I think the only thing that will make me happy is to be little again. i want to be really old. i go to the ocean and feel like nothing matters more than that. in my bedroom everything matters so much. I go to the grocery store every day. i know how to cook a lot of things but the only thing i know how to eat is fried eggs. I can take care of myself but i want to be taken care of. i want to go home and I don't know where that is. i think it may be somewhere inside of me but i’m not sure

i love when tragedies are like “the love was there. it didnt change anything. it didnt save anyone. there were just too many forces against it. but it still matters that the love was there”

Thinking about how when you’re a child your mother is Your Mother but when you look back on childhood she is like… a relatively young woman. With a child

Childhood made everything feel like it lingered. The time it took for hot chocolate to cool down was eternal. Christmas day took weeks. The two-hour drive to my grandparents' house took us to a new world. It's all too fast now.

I’ve never belonged anywhere I’m always just in between

each night in December is so uniquely lonely

The masculine urge to become a mountain man. Only come off the mountain twice a year to get supplies. Farm and harvest and hunt and build everything else. Talk to myself constantly. Stop coming into town for a few years after the age of 76. The sheriff finally comes up to check on me and finds the door to my shack wide open and my skeletonized body lying in bed, tucked up under the covers. They all forgot my name so they just put ‘Mountain Man’ on my tombstone. Shack left to decay but I’m not quite done having fun. My ghost lures lost hikers in and makes them keep me company. They come off the mountain rambling about the crazy old man in the hand hewn log cabin with fire in his eyes and leaves on the floor. I was alone in life but I don’t want to be lonely in death.