the tapestry hangs on the wall.
its hook is very slightly loose and 
it is crooked from a 
lifetime of adjustments.

employ me, it beckons.

it is a perpetual work-in-progress.
the colours are mingled, threads
fraying and loose from
never being complete.

new pieces are added sporadically.

i promise honesty. always.
she then devotes herself to
thinking longer, finding loopholes and
twisting words.

i’m always honest – it’s optimistic of him.

she tries, but it’s difficult sometimes.
she’s sure he doesn’t want full honesty 
from her – it wouldn’t be what he
wants to hear.

it is, it is, it is.

the tapestry sits propped against the wall.
this one is not hung up, allowing 
for the ease of adjustments and
it shows the changes made.

it draws the user, like attracting like.

it is always edited, never done.
the colours are variants on the 
same tones – gray and dark and
clean white and endless black.

simultaneously, polished and worn from use.

the smiles don’t quite reach her eyes.
she ducks behind technology, 
practices honesty even with
her honesty.

sure, i lie sometimes. don’t we all?

she admires his claim to honesty.
it’s noble and nice and good, 
but being noblenicegood
doesn’t always work.

she wishes he could see it.

she twists words and pretends.
she’s shielding him, she thinks,
and that makes it alright –
he never calls her out.

it enables things to go smoothly,

until one day she lays it on the line.
he doesn’t thank her for
her honesty, but that’s okay,
because she didn’t expect him to.

they no longer communicate.

the tapestries remain in place.
she alternates with ease, lingering 
over the darker one and wishing
she had his courage.

she doesn’t like truth so much anymore.

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