I’m like that piece of fabric, initially tightly knit, strong, soft, stiff, almost unwearable. With time, the more it’s worn, the more it’s used, rubbed against, washed, spilled on, cleaned with, the weaker it gets. It’s strength wears out. The threads slowly start to unwind. There are holes. There are stains. There is everything right up on the surface showing the battles of the cloth. The faded colours, the rough edges.
It’s not what it used to be. It’s not able to do what it could before.
Yet it’s use is still the same. You can’t build this kind of strength back, you can’t make it new without replacing it. It’s gone. Its just a matter of time till it diminishes altogether.