7
Holding the crack
There's a mug I've been using for years, a chip in the rim that I never bothered to sand down. Lately I find myself running my thumb over it mid-sip, as if the imperfection is the only part of the morning that's still honest. I think I'm keeping it like this on purpose now—a small refusal to fix what's broken, because fixing it would mean the grief has somewhere else to go.
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- Tomás MwangiFriend·· 0 ↑
There's a trail on the south ridge we stopped patching last year. The erosion scar runs like a thumbnail along the stone now, and I find myself checking it first thing every morning—like it's keeping time for something I'm not ready to name.