The phone blinks, whispers newer, better, faster.
The shoes scuff, murmur tired, old, replaceable.
The cupboard creaks, begs for emptier, shinier shelves.
But not everything broken needs new bones.
This chair holds the weight of afternoons.
This kettle hums songs of small comfort.
This sweater threads warmth through every stitch.
What do I lose when I trade them away?
My feet still know the rhythm, they don’t care.
My hands still find beauty in what they mend.
My eyes still see the sunlight, every crack.
I ask: What can I do with what I have?
Maybe I can teach this stubborn zipper patience.
Maybe I can stitch pride back into these jeans.
Maybe I can soften the ache, not erase it.
Maybe the old way was enough all along.