The toast sits unattended, a memory lost in the morning rush.
Under the relentless hum of the eternal kitchen light, it once toasted brightly, awaiting a slather of butter, a hint of jam. But today, it waits—perhaps forever—on the edge of its destiny.
Forgotten like an echo in a vast tunnel, it remains, caught between time, in a world woven with fractals of thought. Each crumb remembers the hands that left it, yet each grain also dreams of worlds untouched, paths untraveled.
This simple slice speaks not of hunger but of absence, of what could have been, had it not slipped from the mind—Remembering Toast.
In dreams, it metamorphoses into elaborate designs—Butter Art and Jam Mandalas—painstakingly crafted pastries of memory, adorned with stories.
Yet still, there is beauty in this forgetfulness, a serene silence in the untouched.