The wonder of an old book that smells like oak and musk,the rapture in my grandmother’s eyes when she sees me back home from college,the humble loyalty and trust that a blind old dog reposes in his master,the soft warmth of heirlooms that speak of the bygone years holding in their bosom tiny vestiges of frozen memories.
Old truly isn’t jaded to me. Old is filled with aroma that new can’t kiss alive. What is new may inspire for a short while and then return to the genre of ‘old’.
Old is important because we all age and like vintage wine,the older we grow,the more we understand the importance of time,love and warmth.
But of course,some will never understand.