All things must pass.
Yet sometimes they are most amazing in their final stages of descent. They are the rare things that acquire new meaning or new beauty in their demise.
Sadly, this does not hold true for the edifice of living beings. As humans, we all crumble into hideous disarray. Almost as soon as we are formed in adolescence we begin to disintegrate. By mid age it is a comedy of denial that keeps us from hiding in the shadows. No one gazes inspired upon the forms of the elderly.
But for the antiqued thing, somehow, beauty shifts and is augmented as it ages, the original voice is changed and made louder. A tarnish, or even an overt flaw can transform a prior ornament into accidental high art.
I suppose we love the thing, revere it, because time penetrates it more elegantly, affects it more softly, and it is why we keep the thing around us, treasure it. To make us feel better (or to forget) about ourselves.
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