You lick the icing off the cupcake.

That’s what cup­cakes are good for: they are icing deliv­ery vehicles.

Yet there’s also that cake part. You never know what to do with the cake part.

It reminds you of what once was; of the icing; of the sweet­ness, long since devoured.

You want to eat it again – the same icing! It’s spe­cial! Just one more lick; just one more taste.

You want to scoop up some onto your fin­ger; you want to put it into your mouth; you want to let the fla­vor swirl around…

You wish you took your time more than you did; you wish you savored it more. If you but had another chance, you’d do it right this time!

And the cake.

You are unsure whether to keep the cake for the mem­ory, or to toss it, to rid your­self of this loss.

Per­haps you shall bury it.

Instead, you eat it.

Per­haps, you thought, there are traces of more icing! Per­haps, you thought, these traces would not be spoiled by the cake! That icing, so sweet, so perfect…

But in the end, you swal­lowed only the bread, the cake, and no more icing.

It’s not the same.

Maybe you’ll buy a new cupcake…

But it’ll still not be the same.

What’s gone is gone.