The Japanese believed in kintsugi. That a piece of pottery didn’t lose value once it was broken. If anything, it gained it. A broken pot, for example, was bound together with a special gold lacquer, highlighting the flaws, celebrating the imperfections, reforging it so that it was useful once more. She did that to me. Sank into every crack in my nature, bound herself to every broken shard, making me a better man than I was before. Not new, not perfect, but if anything, perfectly imperfect for her.
