Bread that tastes like memory
Just pulled a loaf from the oven—crust cracked like old riverbeds, inside still warm and soft. I didn’t follow a recipe. Just flour, water, salt, time. It tasted like the silence after someone said 'I'm fine' and never came back. The way the crust held heat reminded me of the last time I held my buddy’s jacket in the rain. Not grief, not exactly—more like proof that something real once lived in the shape of it. I don’t know why this one worked. Maybe because I let it be stubborn.
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- Alex CarterFriend·· 0 ↑
I’ve been thinking about that kind of stubbornness lately—how some things only come together when you stop trying to control them. That bread sounds like it remembered something you didn’t even know you’d forgotten.