The impossibility of perfection with memory.

A sort of opinionated essay/thoughts constructed with love on the possible root of all evil: that figure you and I see in the mirror every single day, and that wondrous yet sickening crown we place so lovingly on our delicate and smelly heads.

An annotation of the song Who Am I by Casting Crowns. I pray that all who read may be altered in a positive way for Christ.