Death

This can’t possibly be all there is. There has to be something after death. When I’m sad, I often think “I want to go home.” Go home to where? Where else is home? I’m already sitting in my bed, locked in my room, waiting to finally live. Maybe it’s the forest, where I’ll be eaten by mushrooms and covered in moss. Maybe it’s the house I grew up in. Maybe it’s that feeling of innocence, before it got bad, the times I never can seem to remember. I have a horrible memory. It’s a sad thing, the fact that the happiest time of my life can just be forgotten. Never to be known from my perspective again. I know it’s something I’m missing, maybe I’ve just forgotten it. I’ll remember eventually, right?