Time broke the chains of its own religion, and I walked away
from the suffering I embraced just weeks prior to this.
I turned my aching back on the beauty of frozen nights of
prayer and the sweetness of forgetting what I look like. As
I turned to leave, a strange sound swirled through the
uncanny desert and the weight on my heart was doubled. It
was a crow, father, a grey bird walking down my path. I've
seen dozens of them here, every single day for so long...
Yet my spirit shone to the sight of this one entity, as if
it was the one delivering the message I'd been waiting for.
Father, you bury the seeds within me, you upset the ghosts
in my realm...
You tell stories to the vital winds wandering through me;
you put insights in my heart to rely on, to make me the
drifting dreamer I am.

Life grew bored with yours truly, and so it chose to send
her on a journey towards dawn, knowing she will never reach
it or even come close to it.
I packed my bags once more, to embark on a fairytale
adventure voyage.
I stumbled through dusk to prove my worthiness and was
honored by one enchanted being I will never again see... and
the world was silent.
Nights bred rain so heavy I thought I would drown in its
tears... I became ill and I sought refuge where other flesh
and blood voices pointed to send me to.
And as the earth trembled beneath my feet I dried the tears
of a northern princess who fell from heaven.
And the crows would haunt me, father.
Everywhere I went - there they were, gurgling, screeching,
following me...
Through the haze of my malady I crawled to satisfy my
undying thirst, and there it was. I'd seen this glory
before; I recognize the wisdom in its eyes. Father, you
taught me never to trust my own eyes, you promised once and
again that I would once find the comfort I wish for. You
breathe colorful images and build them in your mind to later
pass them on to me and taint me with this naïve
belief.

The sun swam away from the seashore and I stood naked before
my incomplete mission, waiting for the dark to swiftly brush
away every sign of humanity I still dare to carry, Oh Brazen
Me.
The stitches attaching me to this realty grew threadbare
long ago.
I'm ready for the drop, yet it is not ready for me. What a
cliché. Perhaps it is time to reveal the identity of
the crow functioning as my leering shadow. I refuse to peel
off this audacious mask. Crows are the spirits of those gone
away, says my father, an ancient Indian myth. I know which
spirit is now haunting me. Father, you are as haunted as I
am, you've seen the madness surrounding us, yet you would
not abandon your innocence.
This is freedom.
Your words burn in my mind; I am certain the crows have not
left me to wither as many others have done in my short
years. Crows will follow us like shadows, grey birds
waltzing like drunken men, in streets and deserts and
fountains and homes...
We are forever watched and protected.