Dear favorite purse,
Thank you for helping me carry stuff for the past six or so years. I don't know what that equals in purse years, alot. Your faux leather was soft and perfectly weathered like a trusty saddle. We went everywhere together. Sadly, all good things must come to an end. Your handles just couldn't take it anymore and began to peel. The damage was irreversible, there was nothing I could do. After months of searching I found a similar purse in an attempt to replace you. Not perfect, but the inside is bright pink and I'm a sucker for color. So today my old go-to bag was turned into scrap material. It made me feel not quite so bad about cutting you up knowing that you will turn into artwork when I will sew you into a quilt. But still, it was a sad day. I don't like change.