The inciting tear or scratch, unknown, but has since left a mark unnoticed by most. The small section beside the bed where I sleep, is left bare without flowers to match its peers. The sickly beige color of the wall that shines through, insults the beautiful and dainty flowers surrounding it. Flowers with the faintest blues and greens, and detail so eloquent that you could get lost in their fields for days on end. Not everyone will notice this bare expanse of wall without beauty, not everyone will care for it or run their fingers over its smooth and solid surface. Though the wall behind the paper is strong throughout the room, and no matter where it is missing, or cracked, or peeling, it will always be tough and grounded.  It does not care that it is missing its paper, it knows it is doing its job. It is being a wall. And that’s all it was asked to do.