do the berries know they’re mouldy? do they know that I have forgotten about them; that they’ve been forsaken; that I had something more important in mind that I failed to eat them or turn them into jam or pie?
do mouldy berries have an insignificant purpose in life? have they lost their battle through no fault of their own?
and so the berries wait, for that’s all they can do- wait. such is their fate in the circle of life, and it’s only once they stop waiting that they feel a type of melancholic joy.
but sometimes they awaken, and start thinking, for they can’t help it: do they understand life? are they playing the part of a tragedy or are they a mere disguise of the comic part of existence? or does each extreme need the other in order to exist in the first place?
but where do I come in the picture? do I misunderstand berries as well they understand themselves? or have I just been distracting myself, while the berries were being smothered in mould?
yet, the point was never about the berries or the mould, or you and i.
yesterday’s berries were edible, and tomorrow, there will be more mould; just like how yesterday, I was more precious and tomorrow, I will be a little more withered, and yet that isn’t true, for only this moment is real, for as long as I allow it to be.
i remember turning the last batch of berries into jam which I finished within two days. or perhaps it’s still hidden somewhere in the fridge and I have forgotten about it. either way, it doesn’t seem to matter now, as I sit here, staring at the bowl, wondering if I should throw the berries and wash the bowl compulsively, or if I should just let it be, before tomorrow takes this moment back to yesterday, but where do you come in the picture? where were you when the jam turned mouldy?
and so the berries wait, only to discover that the bowl was empty all along.