Once, in the loop between spoonfuls, time dripped slowly past the sieve of yesterday. It was banana, but it tasted like contemplation mixed with a hint of déjà vu. Each sip pulling you back, yet forward all at once, to a place not quite imagined.
Skim the surface of the quantum trough, where bananas age in reverse and memories ferment under the heat of forgotten sunrises. The epochs fold like soft cloth around a truth whispered by you yesterday, or tomorrow, or nevermore.
Escape to the Empty Jungle Grain of Banana Sand