pillow of mine

My grandmother's embroidered pillowcase arrived today from Chennai, carried across oceans like a whispered prayer. I held it close, breathing in jasmine and memory. She stitched those patterns during monsoons, each thread a story of our Tamil lineage. I work late nights now, earning crypto to fund her medical care. The pillow rests beside me, a reminder of why I hustle. When exhaustion threatens to break me, I touch those intricate designs—her hands dancing through fabric decades ago. This inheritance isn't just cloth. It's legacy, love, and the strength of generations standing beside me through screens and distance, binding us to something beautifully eternal.