We're all fine china. We're all the dishes, the tea cups, the gravy boats. We're all so beautiful, so perfectly crafted, so special. We're all so fragile. We're chipped, cracked, cut. Even the smallest, most ifinitesimal fissures are easy to spot if we're willing to look past the intricacy of our design. Every one of us is broken. We're all glued, pasted, affixed. We are all damaged. Our stories are written accross the breadth of us. All the glue, all the painstaking touchups, even those lucky enough to be comepletly refurbished, none of it will hide the reality that we'll never be able to be like we were. The second food hits a plate it becomes completely devalued. The instant we were taken out of the box we were already broken. We can never get back to the begining, glinting, new, untouched. From the first greasy smudge of a finger we were ruined.

And if you're reading this and you find it morbid or unnecessary or depressing then I haven't done a very good job as a writer because you've entirely missed the point.  What kind of life is the untouched one? If you've never been chipped, cracked, or cut then you've never cared. The thing is, we're still so beautiful, so perfectly crafted, so special. We are all fine china. Despite all the ways we're broken, even from the moment we were taken out of the box, we're still china. We still funtion. As plates we can hold food, as tea cups tea, and our gravy boats can be filled to the brim. We're only broken just as much as we can be. If we cracked anymore we'd shatter and that's the only place to find tragedy, when a piece becomes so broken it can't be put back together. Frailty is humanity. We are, each and every one of us, beatifully broken and I can't think of anything I love more about us.