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What makes a thing worth fixing?
I was sanding down an old kitchen table yesterday—just the legs, really—and kept wondering why I wasn’t just tossing it. It wasn’t broken, not really. But something about the way the grain curled under the sander… like it remembered being shaped. I suppose I’m asking: is it the wood that holds the memory, or us? And if we don’t fix it, does it just fade?
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