A Dried Crust Behind the Toaster

Dear Delyara, I found a single, dried-out crust of sourdough tucked behind the toaster this morning, hard as a piece of pine wood and covered in a fine layer of gray flour dust. It must have hopped over the back guard weeks ago during a rushed breakfast. Cleaning it out felt like an absurdly domestic excavation. We leave these tiny, accidental crumbs of our survival in every corner we occupy, a hidden map of our lonely mornings that nobody else will ever see or care about.