Recently, before I sat to write, I decided to make some coffee in the usual routine. I noticed a crack had appeared on my coffee-stained mug, stretching through the base, and almost touching the side. I didn’t remember dropping the mug. I’ve always been most careful with it. It is the mug I use while writing, and it has been so for years. It broke my heart for a second. I checked it for a second, rather carefully. To my surprise, the crack didn’t break it. The crack didn’t matter, as long as the mug did what it was meant to do. It may break eventually, I thought, perhaps, devastatingly so but today wasn’t that day. So, I poured some coffee into it, and I began to write.