When the tapestry tears a little at the seam, it can be ignored for a time. But eventually the stitches come loose and in this unraveling the material falls apart. The thing that hung on your wall or stayed on your bed or was flung somewhere without thinking was always the thing that just was. You didn’t question its shape or its condition or what it was made of. But when the one little seam started to fray the whole thing lost its meaning and it eventually lay in scraps. And those scraps, you realize, after looking at them from the right instead of the left, were never in the right order to begin with. So you begin the reassembling process. And although the goal is to re-sew the thing to capture its original condition, you realize it can never be that. In fact it was somehow wrong before. Some of the material was garbage in fact. And you wonder how it got sewn into the thing in the first place. You felt gross when you realized you had wrapped yourself in garbage. So you threw those pieces away. None of what you thought you had was left. It was all mismatched pieces with giant gaps where pieces should have been. And you realize after a great deal of time had passed in learning and accepting the thing for what you were told it was and then watching it all fall apart, and then spending so much time putting it together, that it wasn’t really anything at all. You had placed your suppositions about the thing and your belief in the thing that was never really real to begin with. And so you had nothing. So you took the piece of it that seemed to be the most true and you built on that. Maybe it’s on your wall. Maybe it never will be. Maybe it’s that tapestry that can only really work with other non true fabrics that have their garbage pieces thrown away too. You just don’t know. And in the not knowing is a space. An emptiness that if you let yourself, you might quite enjoy.