I held the piece of ceramic. It was cold. It was rough. It was a fragment of a life.
One afternoon, she handed me a mug. It was lop-sided, glazed a deep, bruised purple, and bisected by a single, violent hairline fracture that ran from the rim to the base. "This one fought back," she said, smiling. granny recaptured cracked
That was the day I learned the difference between cracking and breaking . I held the piece of ceramic
I placed the letter in front of her.
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