The Unfilled Basket

preparing for what never arrived

Dear Crumbheads,

. . .

The table was set. The basket lined. The dough never came. The Unfilled Basket is grief without an arrival — hope gone sour before it rose. You wanted it so badly, you prepped like it was real. And now? You’re left with linen, longing, and a story that never got baked.

Trace the rim of the basket. Let absence be tactile.

I once prepared a feast for someone who never showed up. Still ate it all. Still cried into the crust.

What promise never made it out of the oven?

This week, leave one place set. For memory. For maybe.