Tapestry

There is a tapestry on the wall. It is woven with plentiful colors. There are lemon, magenta, and copper hues that encompass its corners. The image gently transcends into a swirl of sage and cyan and midnight, right at its center. It’s abstract. Of course it is. It was made to be unknown. Untouchable. On its own. 

It’s confusing. And it’s intimidating. But when you describe it as intimidating it doesn’t feel like a proud accomplishment. Or a compliment on how something is just so beautiful that other pieces of art cower in its presence. It feels like a slice through its threads. Another reason why it has become a tapestry on the wall, away from the other canvases and sculptures. It shines ever so uniquely. Passersby stare. They go home and reminisce about that one thing they saw that caught their eye. 

They did not take it home though. They had no clue where to put it. It wasn’t a forever piece, you see. Simply a novelty to show off and use as conversation. Although, the conversation continues to rouse for days, weeks, months, and the years to come. Of course, the tapestry does not know that. It’s merely a tapestry, after all. It hasn’t a clue of its impact. Even if it is far too fantastical to be kept in someone’s family home. They always remember it. That silly tapestry with all the colors.