@kazani
Some of the most valuable things in my life would look damaged to a stranger.
Books with notes in the margins.
Photographs bent at the corners.
A coffee mug repaired after being dropped years ago.
None of it is pristine anymore.
And that's exactly why I love it.
When we're young, we tend to associate value with perfection.
The untouched object.
The flawless record.
The version of ourselves that hasn't made any visible mistakes yet.
But over time I've become suspicious of things that remain completely unchanged.
A friendship that never survived a disagreement.
A belief that never faced scrutiny.
A life that never required adaptation.
Those things may look impressive from a distance.
They also feel strangely untested.
I think meaning accumulates through contact.
Through being carried.
Used.
Questioned.
Weathered.
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