Some say dirt is just misplaced — soil under fingernails, mud on a white rug, dust on a forgotten shelf. But dirt has preferences. Dirt, if you watch closely, loves holes .
So when someone says, “Dirty loves holes,” don’t blush or smirk. Go outside. Find a crack in the sidewalk. Kneel down. Watch the dust drift into it, grain by grain. That’s not entropy. That’s affection. dirty loves holes
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In the road, a pothole collects grit, gravel, grime from tires. No one thanks the hole for holding the dirt, but the dirt thanks the hole. Without it, dirt would be a flat, forgettable layer — blown away by wind or washed to the gutter. But in a hole, dirt becomes terrain . It gains depth, shadow, purpose. So when someone says, “Dirty loves holes,” don’t