ode to a jar of bonne maman

the jar of jam lasted a little over three months. having served its bestowed life as a container of fruit preserve, it then became a part of our own. not a bottle, not a container, but a living memory of those three months and its hurried breakfasts – a silent yet active listener of our talks of unrealised ambitions and plans, of highway escapades and late night films, of books and distant flea markets…

Image Courtesy: Fiona Sami

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