When you stand in a muddy puddle, you are a giant, a world destroyer, a builder. You leave an imprint that moulds and creates. But as you leave that imprint disappears. Slowly and by degrees.  

My hometown's muddy puddle is changing. Parts of it have disappeared completely: existing now only as memories. Slowly, their imprint disappears. 

There is only my mum left to bind me to my hometown now. There are so few people left who remember me. My imprint is disappearing too.

But now I suppose I am trying to rebuild my muddy puddle. Bailing out the water, shearing up the walls. What will I gain by this? Perhaps, in some small way, immortality.

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