Atop the writing table lies a pencil, worn and wooden, with teeth marks up and down its used edges. Skin’s gripped and flaked off the lean length of the utensil throughout its entire existence. In time, it will be nothing more than a nub, a piece of charming antiquity without a practical purpose. But that time has yet to come.
To the right of the tape deck sits a cassette in its sturdy case, picked-over and plastic, its spine faded and its edges scuffed. Skin has gripped and flaked off an innumerable amount with each handling of the transparent brick. Soon, it will be nothing more than an artifact, a dusty capsule from an outdated time to be questioned about but never used. But that time has yet to come.
At the top of the screen, next to the other fixed tabs, stands a website with an embed of forgotten treasures. Pulled from real human voices, fingers, and feet, from their sweat and concentration exists a gateway to what was; a time-stamp of remembrance and celebration. Before long, the website will become obsolete — neutered, forgotten — but that time has yet to come.
S/o to PetPets’ TAPES for keeping something alive: