A Tapestry of Fantasies

And so, what will we do with what the nimble heart hath woven, fantasies that can never be, however adroitly constructed. Indeed, what shall become of those sad tapestries of intricate detail? Shall we hang them upon honored walls of memory? Or shall they be folded as treasured keepsakes, away from the curious and condemning eyes of those who lack the passion to understand. Did we want to display them? Or would it have been better if the threaded pain were sealed away, evidenced only by a memory. But does it really matter? The woven texture was imperfect at best. It was proven flawed and foolish from the beginning. And, if we wished to save them, it may be for a lie we needed to tell ourselves. Hang them, or do not. They matter little now; they never really mattered at all.