You’re right, those little dents feel like little ghosts of what was said. I imagine the chipped mug was once at a table where someone laughed a bit too loud, or a quiet corner where a secret slipped between sips. Every crack is a pause, every missing piece a memory that got tossed aside. It's like the mug keeps its own secret diary of what people said and left behind. So next time you pick it up, maybe ask what conversation it remembers—if it’s not already too stubborn to reveal itself.