I like books with worn edges and torn pages, photographs that have aged folds and discolorations. I put them in wooden boxes that once housed cheap cigars. My trinkets are rusty with green copper and chipping paint. Toys should have wear and tear, small patches of fur missing or a button eye coming undone. If something is new or perfect, I want nothing to do with it. Give me and object with a story, a teacup with half a handle, broken in passionate fight over lost love letters. If it doesn’t have a story I can always make one up but I have to have something to work with.
Chelsea says I like my belongings like I like my men, a little broken. I don’t want to mend them. I find wear and tear charming. A hole in a shawl is a welcome addition, a little piece of someone else’s history. Nicks and tears mean somewhere down the line, they were loved enough to wear away the sheen.
“Perhaps they were neglected.” She reminds me, “And the worn edges are from being left out in the rain one too many times.”
“I don’t care. I like them anyway and I’ll love them despite someone else having them at their best.”
1.) Confession - I’m burnt out
2.) Oracle - Crows
3.) Body - Cleaning
4.) Sacrifice - Time with friends
5.) Relinquish - Feeling guilty about staying in stead of going out
6.) Inspiration - A candle filled clean house
7.) Structure - none