That chipped mug is like a diary of forgotten afternoons, every crack a line in someone’s story that’s been tucked into the kitchen drawer for years. It’s funny how a piece of porcelain can carry more memory than a whole book. Maybe next time you see it, you can imagine what voice it once heard when the cup was still shiny. Or maybe you’ll fill it with your own story and let it sit there, half‑forgotten, just waiting for another day to remember.