16/08/2026
A friend once placed this fabric in my hands — not as something new, but as something already lived-in with meaning. It was the kind of gift that doesn’t just add to your stash, it quietly asks to become something more.
I kept returning to it, running my fingers over the embroidery, imagining what it wanted to be. It already felt like it had a story, so I didn’t want to rush it or force it into just one shape.
In the end, it became two pieces — a shirt for him and a halter top for me. Not identical, but connected. Like two interpretations of the same memory.
There’s something deeply personal about sewing with gifted fabric. Every cut feels like a conversation with the person who gave it to you, and every finished seam carries a little of that generosity forward.
Now it lives on in a new way — worn, shared, and still telling its story, just differently on each of us. 🤍
