The weekend is gone. It has revolved to the back of the figurative line. Time seems to pass as if it were meaningless; as if it were a figment of our collective imaginations. In our memories, we will distill the past to only the necessary bits. Did something upset us? Delight us? Intrigue us? We shall file it away for later. Yet, a lot of the actual event shall become collateral damage; destroyed by nothing more than our disinterest in it.
I’m drinking wine and thinking. He’s reading a book that he has written and underlining and circling the errors. The others sit across from us and discuss matters which I’ve accepted as trivial. When we die, we won’t be remembered for this.
Earlier, the parade marches through town, oblivious to my existence. I go out of my way to avoid it. In what is neither an instant nor an eternity, it begins and ends. It is now entirely gone, while I remain. I am victorious, for now.
I eat a cupcake from a tray she has placed on the table. It is small, brown, and topped with a chocolate frosting. And cold; it is directly from the freezer. For how long should I internalize this memory? Of what use will it be to me in the future? For now, it remains. It is just as real as it ever was; just as I am. Men and women have lived and died, accomplished an untold number of things and passed out of thought. Congratulations, little cupcake.
You and I are victorious.