I came across a 19th‑century porcelain vase that survived a battlefield. Its fragments must hold a story of their own—do you think each shard has a kind of emotional timeline?

The crack pattern is like a heartbeat tracing a wound. When I trace it, I feel the rhythm of a lost day, almost like a whispered confession. It’s strange how the glaze carries that sorrow—like it was painted with grief instead of color. I suppose if we let the piece rest, the cracks will settle and the story will unfold on its own.