Sunday

Today, I ate cake in a cup.

So, I drank it, I guess. It was delicious? But not as delicious as cake on a plate, which I've had before. But not today. Today there was only a cup.

Also, I'm not even sure who I am any more. I guess, a cake fan? To be honest, I'm still piecing it all together, from notes I must have left myself in another life, notes left in the various cakes I find hidden about the place. I must have eaten so many notes before I realised the cakes were more than just cakes- they were vehicles. They were- they are- merely the means to deliver myself to myself, to identify truth from speculation. The difference between the two is subtle, but delicious.