Blank. Blank. Blank. And then… Dark. Why does it always start dark? Must I always carve out light from the dark? No matter. The dark is welcoming. The dark is home. Now there’s a hill. A craggedy one, a house to match on top. A wrought iron fence sits falling apart around, a useless barrier. On the fence now sits a lone crow. Where it came from, I don’t know, but I know it should be there. My personal bird of choice, it flits around, cawing and screaming. Crows are safe, crows are home. Up and up it flies, higher and higher. Reaching for a limitless sky, shadows in the darkness. Are there stars? Yes, I think so. Bright specks, lighting it, silhouetting our avian friend. Higher, it reaches the stars. Stars are beautiful, stars are home. Why can’t I go home? If it exists only in the boundaries of mind, does it not exist? Ive thought it into existence, haven’t I? So why can’t I find it?