You remember when they took the backing off of the Unicorn Tapestries and uncovered colors that hadn't seen the light in 500 years, right? And then they took a zillion tiny pictures and tried to piece them all together, except it turned out that when they took the tapestries off the wall, they changed. Started to breathe. Gravity had been working on them one way for so long, and when given the chance they stretched out their spaces and twisted their fibers until looking at them in pieces meant that their stitches showed.
Of course, once their backing fabric was replaced and they went back on the wall the changes were mostly lost to memory and digital pits. Still, for a little while those threads were free from the pull that they had always known.
Although I shouldn't, I like it when people carve names and hearts on young trees. I like that as the trees get older and taller the names and hearts stretch and stretch until you can only see the suggestion of them like a whisper of the romances that used to be. The names may or may not still be together off of the tree, but on them the feelings that make tree carvings necessary are always there.
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