When Earrings Speak : a story from Earrings' eyeview

I wasn’t born in a factory.
I came to life slowly—shaped by careful hands, warmed by the curve of fingertips, and finished with a breath of intention.

I’m just a pair of earrings. Small, perhaps. But I’ve been witness to more than you might think.

I remember the first day you picked me up.
You didn’t say a word, but I saw the way your eyes paused—just for a moment.
That’s when I knew I’d found my place.

Since then,
I’ve danced when you laughed.
I’ve swayed gently when you turned your head in thought.
I’ve caught the light on mornings when you needed a little brightness.
And on quiet days,
I’ve simply stayed close—doing nothing more than being there.

You’ve worn me to big things—
interviews, dinners, first steps into rooms that made your heart race.
You’ve worn me on days when you just needed to feel a little more like yourself.

I’ve rested on your nightstand,
on windowsills,
in the corners of mirrors.
I’ve heard your music, your sighs, your last thoughts before sleep.

And though I’m small, I hold a trace of you—
your rhythm, your softness, your boldness, your becoming.

I was made with care.
But I became me because of you.