Have you ever noticed how the windows of abandoned or old houses on the street are almost always shattered?

Every time I walk past places like that, I can’t help but look. Those broken windows aren’t just signs that no one lives there anymore — they feel like quiet signs of collapse. It starts with a single pane of glass, then slowly the whole structure seems to fade, crack, and eventually disappear.

Glass is fragile — we all know that. But what really breaks it isn’t always one big impact. Sometimes it’s just time: wind, rain, changes in temperature, and no one around to take care of it. Eventually, it cracks. Not always with a sound. No one remembers exactly when it started. It just breaks. And once it’s broken, it’s hard to put back together.

People say it’s just what happens with old buildings — that cities are evolving, and space needs to be renewed. But when I see those shattered windows, I feel like they’re also telling a quieter truth.

We talk a lot about sustainability, about preservation, about value that should be maintained. But in reality, we often just leave things be — let them wear down, fall apart — and then say, “Well, it’s old anyway. Might as well tear it down.”

And in our own lives? Our habits, our relationships, the things we once wanted to build — how many of them end not with a crash, but with slow neglect? Not because they were destroyed, but because no one took care of them. Until one day, a small crack appears — and we just move on.

Sometimes, a broken window tells the truth better than an ESG report.

It doesn’t have a slogan. It doesn’t need a photo op. But if you stop and look, you’ll understand:

without consistency, there is no sustainability.