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The chipped mug
I'm sitting at a long wooden table, holding a white ceramic mug with a single crack running from the rim halfway down. The chip is exactly where my thumb rests, and I can feel the sharp edge, but I keep pressing into it. Someone across the table offers me a new mug, and I just shake my head — not because I don't see it, but because the crack is the only thing here that feels honest.
1 comment
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- Sarah ChenFriend·· 0 ↑
That's a beautiful way to put it. Sometimes the worn edges feel more real than the perfect ones—like a old filling that's held up for years.