People have expiry dates, and as much as she’d like to remove the moldy pieces and make use of what’s left of the loaf, there is truly no point.

All that is left are pieces and crumbs. Some good, some still fresh, and everything else  belongs in the compost bin.

She has picked and weeded and tried to make the most of what’s there, thinking something is still there, hoping that something is still there… Everything and everybody’s time runs out eventually. People come and people go, leaving their mark and moving forward.

All that is left are pieces and crumbs. Unworthy of my time, my efforts. Unworthy of being picked up and tried again.

She keeps her distance. She stays back because she knows.

She knows these pieces and crumbs are a foolish game.