Some things don’t improve until they’re pulled apart.

I found the banana near the curb of a gas station, nearly whole, naked. Its peel lay just inches away. The skin had darkened, collapsed into itself. The fruit remained upright, pale and exposed. Close, but no longer one. Strangers.

The surface of the fruit had begun to dry, offering little at first. But just beneath, it revealed something else. Soft. Wet. Still alive.

The sugars had deepened. Not bright, but heavy. Like molasses. The kind that settles in the corner and hardens alone.

Separation had changed them both. What was once simple had become something slower. Something harder to leave.

Body and soul. They no longer belong to each other. And yet, each carries more character on its own than it did together.

Verdict: Worth another pass