The sound of the sewing machine is somewhat...comforting.  I wouldn't say that to you, couldn't - I actually find it to be odd myself, but its loud buzzing and light beeps are soothing to me.  I can hear the noise from my bedroom, and I often confuse it with the computer.  Ironically, my temper readies so that I can get angry and yell at you for using my computer.  But then I listen for a few more moments, and I hear that you're just at the sewing machine, making a dress for Ellie.
     When Lillie and I were young, you would always make us costumes.  Halloween, parties, our birthdays - any occasion, you were willing.  Whenever you made me a pair of pants, or made a dress for Lillie, you always had a huge smile on your face.  I believe that the sewing machine was often times happy too because of the fact that we enjoyed its work.  We both got older, though, and no longer found interests in your works of art.  Every Halloween, I would make a design; soon, I got into cosplaying, and I would design outfits for that, too - but Lillie and me...we both just lost interest.  I still remember those pants that you made for her - they had four different patterned fabrics, I loved them.  Do you remember those?  I couldn't quite understand why Lillie didn't like them at the time; I do now.
     But here you sit.  Still at the same sewing machine, a smile on your face after all these years; and I still wonder why I never told you how much I appreciate all that you've done for me.  Sometimes, listening to a sewing machine's rumble is better than saying anything at all.