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The more I look at what I'm currently knitting -- the more I handle it, the more I see it, the more I envision it -- I cannot help but remember the pink cardigan my Aunt Rose made for my mum. When I was little, I would wear it every now and then to school for picture day and so forth. It basically engulfed me, it was huge! But it was warm and soft and beautiful.
One day my mum told me I couldn't wear it any more -- pieces of it were starting to unravel and it had areas that were worn from time and, with it being so delicate, no dry cleaner would touch it. It sits, to this day, packed away in the attic.
I want to look at it, now :\ It's been years since I've set eyes on it. Very afraid, though, that it might have become nothing more than a pile of fluff.
One day my mum told me I couldn't wear it any more -- pieces of it were starting to unravel and it had areas that were worn from time and, with it being so delicate, no dry cleaner would touch it. It sits, to this day, packed away in the attic.
I want to look at it, now :\ It's been years since I've set eyes on it. Very afraid, though, that it might have become nothing more than a pile of fluff.
