Even bread rots.

And memory is such a fragile thing, so is time, and love, hate and everything else. Everything just seems so transient, happiness or otherwise, and what seemed so real yesterday could just be wispy fragments of the surreal today. I wish I could seal everything in concrete, keep it, hold it, touch it - proof that everything ever existed. But I guess nothing's forever. I should have known. I should have known better.

Sometimes, maybe it's better to move on, face life as it is, live for today and the future. But even so, I still wish I could have a box of memories, somehow, like a treasure chest, sealing everything that was once dear and close to me. That was once. Yet, there is so much you can keep, only so much you can hold close, near, concrete. I mean, even bread rots, and you can't keep it for long. It is a perishable, and you have to ingest it somehow, someday. And then it will all be gone, and come out in shit.

Your only consolation would be that, you owned a piece of bread once, ate it, enjoyed its terrific flavour and then absorbed it into your body, the wholesome goodness of it all, passing out what cannot be retained as waste.

Ah, the cycle of everything in life.

Memories and experiences, they are no exception.