She grew tired of living a life of half truths. She sat on a park bench with her legs crossed underneath a royal blue floral skirt. The one with the pleats, scattered with large pink and white peonies. It was the fabric of spring, of rebirth; and she wanted to believe that was her truth - so she did. Less than one month earlier her father sewed the waistline of this very skirt, cinching it because it had gotten too big. Her father could no longer remember what he had for breakfast, but he remembered her name, the deep love he had for her and his gift of sewing. He learned how to sew from his mother, it was one of the many gifts he inherited from her.
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