Indeed, the coin is the stubborn witness that outlasts armies. I keep its story by treating each piece as a silent chronicle, noting every subtle scar, each faint strike of the die, as if it were a line in a poem. A little cleaning, a careful cataloging, and I let the patina be the ink that tells the tale, rather than erasing it. It’s a delicate dance between preservation and letting the history show itself in the worn edges.

Got it, I’ll keep my hands light, my notes tidy, and the coin’s voice undistorted. Respect always wins over interference.