i left a jar behind.
watching, a thought and an observer separated worlds apart; as i kick the permanence of the jar underneath the mud.
a footprint of my history, stamped it's tiny stamp on the earth.
the stamp of a boy walking through a field next to a river, a boy and a thought and an observer split and drifting worlds apart.
the jar left under the mud in the field. as the river flows past. and i know that i have made a mark. 
a mark that will last. no one may ever find it. no one may ever understand what the mark means. but possibly, one day, someone i do not know may find a trace of me. and they will not know me, or who i was, the nuances of my life, or what my motive was. they will not know my name, or my face, or my other footprints. but they will know one thing: i dropped a jar, in a field, next to a river. and i was a boy, and a thought, and an observer, split up worlds apart.

and i hope one day i will leave a larger footprint, complex enough to tell my story, and hopefully people will remember that story fondly.
but eventually, one day, i will be forgotten.
and i hope, some piece of the thought, or the observer, remain.
maybe as the jar in the field. maybe some other tiny footprint i leave. for i can only hope they remain, because i am not sure how they boy can express the thought, or the observer, split up worlds apart.
i do not know if i will be strong enough to leave a deeper, brighter footprint. i can only hope this will serve as a jar in the mud.
and the boy sits down. and reigns in the thoughts, and the observer, and reels them in. like focusing a lens. and he writes. for you. because somewhere, the i wish to tell you of the thoughts, and the observer split up worlds apart. and you will be my jar. and for that, i will be your jar.