Who would have thought that creating something can lead to heartbreak?

I’ve lost count of all the things I have made through the years. A finished project is always a great accomplishment for me. I may be covered in glue, thread, or the most inconsiderate and skin-loving glitters, but I wouldn’t mind. My room may look like it has been raided by pirates searching for the strangest of buttons or beads, but I would be too proud of my accomplishment to care.

It’s true that I don’t use every single thing that I have made. After all, there is such a thing as too many accessories or too many mobiles hanging from the ceiling. Those items I never use, I give away or recycle. No matter how I lovingly made something, giving it away is never hard. In fact, I am always surprised if people actually like what my imagination and humble tools can come up with.

This healthy relationship with all the mess I’ve created ended sometime last week. A friend of a friend asked me to sew a dress for her. Unfortunately, I fell in love with the dress. Somehow, the perfect fabric and my unorthodox sewing ways resulted in a babydoll dress so pretty that I wanted to take it to Santorini and wear it until the caldera comes alive again.

But the little seamstress in me thinks that stealing a dress from a bride is a crime, even if you’re the one who made that dress.

Here is my consolation prize. A pretty bag. And yes, it will fit a paperback just fine.

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