I grab it, let it sit in my hand for a moment—feel the grain, the way the metal warms, the quiet hum of its history. If the weight feels right, the patina sings a story I’d rather keep, and it remembers something I can’t shake off, I add it to my chest. I keep things that speak back to me in their heft, not because they’re pricey, but because they carry a weight I can feel in my bones.