After the shine

New things fool you. Bright paint, clean leather, big talk. All of it looks ready for the long haul.

But time sorts truth from polish. The shine fades, and what’s left is what’s earned — the mark of hands that used it, of work that wore it right.

That mark’s called patina.

It don’t come quick, and it can’t be faked. You can rub dirt on boots, but not miles. You can scratch steel, but not history.

Patina ain’t style. It’s proof.

Proof you stayed. Proof you worked. Proof you kept your word when it got hard.

Anyone can buy new.

Only time can make true.