Literature Short Stories Prose Poetry Nonfiction Sense of Living Walking out of the store, I looked for my crow friend. She’d gone off, probably in the sky somewhere. I looked up for her and saw about a thousand crows flocking the sky—a beautiful sight. Amongst strangers who will still be here tomorrow, I recall my last visit when I wasn’t fully infantile. Amongst strangers who will still be here tomorrow, I recall my last visit when I wasn’t fully infantile. Amongst strangers who will still be here tomorrow, I recall my last visit when I wasn’t fully infantile. Rot ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ɪ’ᴅ ᴡᴏɴᴅᴇʀ ɪꜰ ʜᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴄʀᴜꜱʜᴇᴅ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴇɪɢʜᴛ ᴏꜰ ʜɪꜱ ᴀɴᴏᴍᴀʟʏ. ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴀ ꜱɪʟʟʏ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ. ʜᴇ ᴍᴜꜱᴛ’ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴄᴏɴꜱᴜᴍᴇᴅ.
