One was flawlessly smooth, made to glisten under candlelight. The other was sturdier and was a garment in which one could . . . live a life. I knew how the cool satin felt against my skin. How luxurious and effortless the fabric was to wear. But one spill, even a few droplets of water, could spoil it irrevocably. I knew the linen was stiff and scratchy. But it would withstand long hours in a kitchen and long walks in the city. It would withstand summer sun and winter snows. I released the satin and slipped into the linen. I couldn’t spend my life like a china doll on a shelf. I was the linen,
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