Walking alone along the road, the mist surrounds me. It reaches out with a cool touch, as though it tells me to slow down and look around. I brush it off, though— I know what it’s trying to coerce me into doing and I won’t let it.

The path curves, yet nevertheless heads straight ahead. For better or for worse, I’m on this path careening dead ahead into the unknown misty forest. The overgrown pavement causes the occasional skip in my step as I trip on it. Occasionally, it’s bad enough that I’ll fall and completely stop walking. It’s never for long, though— I scramble back onto my feet and look behind me, thanking God that it hasn’t caught up to me yet.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been walking this overgrown and misty path, but I know that if I stop something bad will happen. My hands and knees are bloodied and bruised from my tripping, and it happens more often the longer I walk. Every time I fall, I should be getting better at catching myself, yet it feels like that never happens. At some point, I’m going to fall over and never get back up again.

I’m just so, so tired.

Yet, here I am. Continuing to walk down this dilapidated path because I’m too scared to see what lies outside the boundaries of the pavement. I’m scared of what lies inside the mist and everything beyond it. The path forward is what I’ve been set on, yet its clear it’s just not meant for me.