Stirrings

When you sit down and try to calculate the form and function of a memory it's likely that you are going to come up with something undefined.

It is likely that you are going to be viewing a form stirred up in the decaying plant and mud life of a long lost lake.

See, there are broken moments when you feel lost in the night. It's cold and dark and street lights exist as distant fireflies buzzing in and out of your consciousness.

Sometimes you wake up to a dying fire and you wonder where the night has gone. The sun casts its lot among the dust and the dirt on the floor and something cold stirs inside you. It's like the wind whipping through trees.