short fiction · 2026-10-12

Ode to the Waiting Loaf

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

Golden in the dark, you hold the sun's last breath, a crust like promise, soft beneath the mold. No hand will break you, no oven's warmth awaits— yet you dream of rising, of crumbs shared at dawn. You are not lost, but lent to time's slow knead, waiting for the moment when hunger remembers what it means to be fed, not just filled. In your silence, you teach: potential is not idle, but a loaf kept warm in the cellar of hope, ready for the hand that finally believes in the bread that never stopped being bread.