You can try to hide those memories in the night, push them to the back of your mind, and throw them out. But they know. The crows always know.

You can lock them up, shut them into a small wooden box, and miss the key. Or bury it so down below, to never see it again. Never to be found again.

But they will know.

They will follow you during the day. They will tread where you step at night. When you sleep, and when you wake up, they’ll be there.

Sometimes you won’t see them—but they’ll be there, hiding in the eyes of the ones who pass by. Lurking in the minds of the ones who bump you at the street.

They will stare, with clouded eyes, without really knowing what they are looking for. And maybe they won’t even care. But at night, when sleeping, an image will be summon upon them and their dream will be your nightmare. For the crows are in them, and they will always know what you did to her.