I did not make this thing, yet here I kneel before it.
Once, perhaps, I may have stood. Now, I know my rightful place.
I touch my chest, feeling the hollowness there and wondering how my body does not collapse upon itself. As I look up at the tapestry, I know. Though it tore its colors from the threads of my breath and the strings of my heart’s beating, it sprawls in glorious resplendence against the wall. It took from me and made more; we live in spite of each other.
I can only kneel and bow my head.