The Tapestry

The Tapestry - Sabin Fisher

I hear such exciting, resplendent things out of the best people.

They only have the best in mind.

Isn't that a good thing?

Well, no. Not exactly.

However, I am simply going to go with it and hope for the brink of adequacy.

Why?

Because hoping for the best only brings more pain and unjustified high standards for life.

Standards that shall forever remain unfulfilled.

Standards that have left me torn and abused.

That left me lying here, helpless,

To pick up every last scrap of hope in my emotional manifestation of a corpse.

And I am left alone, trying to stitch the pieces together.

Each stitch joining more pieces of hope together, creating a forged sense of hope.

Such trickery.

I know that, though the pieces are stitched together, it will never be the same.

It will never be the initial, pure hope that every human is born with.

Instead, I am left with a grotesque configuration of the Tapestry of Hope,

Once a beautiful, beautiful thing.

Now immensely macabre.

With what could the Tapestry be restored with?

I have not a centimetre of fabric to offer.

But instead, an uncontrollable urge to mooch off the hope of others

Just to try to barely achieve

Fathomability.

Your hope may still be beautiful. Mine is not. Nor will it ever be.

It is tattered and torn from months and months of

Hoping to achieve any sort of affection from the one person I truly love.

Day after day it gets slashed and cut up

But then sown again

In hopes of redemption.

As time passes, the Tapestry gets more battered. And more stitched.

And more torn.

And more stitched.

And more devastated.

And more stitched.

Eventually, the Tapestry became a completely unrecognisable cloth of hope.

Completely foreign.

I am left with a totally unknown Tapestry, unfamiliar to my life.

A Tapestry in which the illusion of hope is

Masqueraded by the hands of

Doubt,

Deceit,

and Reality.

The Hope is all a facade.

And I recognise that now.