There are two apples in a bag in my fridge. They are green of a biter variety, perhaps a granny smith. They’ve been there for over half a year. They are beginning to develop brown patches on the skin. Every once in a while I will take them out and look at them. Then I put them back. I imagine they will soon become quite rotten.
I didn’t buy these apples. I didn’t put them there. The person who did often made fun of my distaste for green apples. I would playfully opine the superiority of red apples.
Every day the world changes a little bit more. Time continues to grind on. I wonder: what is the purpose of these apples? Nothing. Everything. It has been half a year. I am falling apart.
No one will ever taste the two apples in my fridge.