If you stay lost in the wild long enough, you'll find yourself.
Chaos of explosions has erupted around you in less time than it takes for you to blink an eye. As you draw in your next breath, an electrical circuit of neurons fire to create a fleeting contemplation, and without any record of this emission, it vanishes.
What if the way in which we think about ourselves gets destroyed, and we lose those experiences that are kept as memories? What if we are no longer able to think about ourselves and the world around us in the way in which we are used to? Do we lose a part of ourselves that has helped shape our personality?
Perhaps this is why the crow always gets a bad rap? Perhaps their ominous history of negative stereotypes precedes them and is attached to randomized events with adverse outcomes furthering their haunting demeanor? I suppose I will never know.
The memory fades away with every breath breathed in its direction. The very act of recalling the memory destroys it piece by piece as though my mind attempts to chisel itself away. However, instead of an uncovered work of art from polished marble, I’m left with the rough sections of jagged rock lying in ruins.
Jazzed About Stuff 