Not because it mattered deeply, but because it was familiar. Because it still mostly worked. Because I had grown used to the irritation and mistaken it for normal. The replacement did not just solve a practical problem. It exposed a quiet truth about how easily we accept small discomforts when they fade into the background of routine.
Letting the old band go felt unexpectedly symbolic. I had not realized how much I had attached to something simply because it had always been there. The new strap did not carry the same history of wear, but it carried something else instead. Relief. Freshness. The subtle pleasure of smooth movement without resistance.
The watch still tracks the same hours. It still marks the same passing time. But now it does so without scraping itself apart in the process. That small change has stayed with me more than I expected. A reminder that wear is not always dramatic. Sometimes it whispers. Sometimes it collects quietly in little spirals on the surface of everyday life.
Those curls were not just debris. They were a signal. This has run its course. Let it go. And let something stronger take its place.
