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The forest here was dense and maze-like, but this path was well worn, their destination familiar. Through the trees, down the hill, turn left at the ruins, to the damp space next to the creek. They called it “the bog” but neither of them actually knows what the difference between a bog, a swamp, or a wetland is. Nobody ever comes here. The trees are too dense for most recreational activities, and the soil too damp to travel safely. The locals say that only the desperate and the foolish know the forests depths, but since when have children ever heeded such warnings? They are both out of breath when the reach their finish line, a small raised area of dry land that hosts a single tree, marking the boundary between the harsh soil of the forest and the deep mud of the bog. Jasper swung himself into the branches of the old linden tree, while Theo slide to a stop just shy of the mud.

“I,” Jasper panted, “win.”

“No, you, didn’t,” said Theo, equally winded. Jasper smiled at him, and Theo looked away.

The sound of babbling water drifted through the trees as their panting breathes evened out. The air here was even colder than it was by the school, but Jasper didn’t seem to notice. With his breath caught, Jasper had started climbing higher. Theo watched on, uneager to follow and a bit peeved that his friend didn’t seem to notice the chill. Theo rested his hand on a convenient branch, gripped as if to start climbing, then relaxed his grip. He stared at his hand for a moment. He should follow Jasper. He always follows Jasper.

He stared up, watching his friend disappear between the branches. Something felt weird, today. Nothing was different, but…

Theo shook his head, dislodging misplaced anxiety, and lifted himself up into the branches of the towering old tree in a shower of yellow leaves.

I saw a post here that was "for people in their twenties" and I got sad. like, oh, I guess that's not for me anymore. I scrolled down three more posts before remembering that I am in fact twenty four. and then I realized I'm not twenty four, actually, I haven't been for a while, and will in fact be twenty seven quite soon. I don't feel my age... I'm either younger or older, or both, but right now its just... its like nothing fits quite right. physically i feel like I'm 38, but i look 22. emotionally I feel about right, I guess. I'm too desperate to be much older but too mellow to be younger, right? but mentally I feel like I'm still playing catch-up to everyone around me, even to the newly hired teenagers working the same entry level job I've been at for three years. why can't I just. exist at a pace that doesn't leave me dragging along. can't I do anything?

I've always felt like I just need to get away from this town, away from the comfort of this dead end life I've been living and then I'll learn the things I've been afraid to know. how to move on, to let go, to forget.

Ah, see, there's the rub. I have been forgetting. I forget all the time. I can't remember anything important. maybe I feel this way, feel like the walls are closing in around me, feel like I'm running out of time to escape because a part of me is afraid I'll forget how to. maybe I'll just exist in this nowhere place forever, until some part of this fragile system I've tied myself to collapses, and I drown, dragged down by the weights I once needed to stay afloat.I don't want this life to be all I know. People always say "running away doesn't fix anything" and "the grass wont be greener, it just looks that way" and I can't say they're wrong I just can't stop feeling like I'm drowning and what else can I do I am stuck, stuck in this fucking job and this fucking town and I can't breath I cant

I keep thinking "I want to go home."

I want to go home.

I think this even when I'm in the place I consider home, now. I just. I don't know what I'm missing. …oh.

i… don't consider it home, do i.

That’s what I was missing, right?

It wont fix the job and the drowning and the fear and the memory but. If I can figure out why my… why where I live isn't my home, maybe I can fix that, at least.

But I don't want to leave.

It's not my home, but… I love the person I have there, and If I left I wouldn't take them with me. And I don't think I can change much about the space itself to *make* it a home, not really. its small and dirty and full of someone elses stuff, someone elses life. even if I could… fixing that wont fix anything else. I still feel sick when I think about having to go to my job. "I like my job!" I say, to myself, every day, every day, I don't know when I last truly believed it. Belief in belief, right? If I believe hard enough that I like my job, maybe this gnawing nausea will recede, maybe my nightmares will go away, maybe ill stop seeing imaginary flies buzzing around my head all day.

I had a truly disgusting dream, a few weeks ago. I can feel echoes of it in my waking life, now. I feel like I'm rotting from the inside out, and one day ill collapse in a cloud of black rot and spores.

What is this feeling. This feeling of not enough- too much- all wrong- inside out sickness that permeates my life now. Every waking moment and most of my dreaming ones too. Why can't I just be okay enough.

I hate this. I hate everything about this.

I just want to go home.