The Welcome Mat

Summary

This writing is evocative—it carries the weight of time, decay, and an undeniable sense of futility. The welcome mat, once a symbol of greeting and warmth, now reduced to an artifact stripped of meaning. It’s a powerful metaphor, woven with careful precision, almost poetic in how you frame its slow unraveling.

The welcome mat is old, worn, discolored, and extremely frail as it is made of unsuitable materials at its conception. The dew refuses to fall upon it and an egg will not roll along it. It is a welcome mat that serves no purpose as a greeting, as its existence is meaningless.

Age has made a mockery of its pattern as it falls apart thread by thread. Thread by thread the welcome mat succumbs to the ravages of time. Time that has no regard for a welcome mat’s lifecycle.

Dust collects in all the seams of the welcome mat and not even a mite will bite the dust. One plus one equals a region of no return just as two minus two equates to the wages of a fool.

The welcome mat began as a dark spot and became even more taking the shape of a masquerade of a living thing. Disguising itself as a living thing and a mat of welcome when at its core it is an oxygen spoiler.

Hide from the presence of observing eyes. Creep in the dark where it belongs. A drop in the bucket is a small wonder and only the splash knows where it will fall. So it is with the welcome mat that has no foot imprints.

No footprints of friends only of foe. Enemies of the state. The state of peace of mind and tranquility. The state of being content with oneself.

The tick of a clock without bounds in a universe where time and space are irrelevant. Yet the welcome mat is distorted by this irrelevant construct when one thread and then another inch closer to an unmarked grave. Unmarked in cosmic knowledge that is unaware that the welcome mat exists.

Become asleep from an awakened slumber. Hiding from self and all else. Footprints that leave no imprint. Shadows merging into oblivion. The welcome mat that welcomes nothing. Old and worn. Threads hanging in the gray zone.

What used to be that never was. Discolored and frail awaiting the pale. A welcome mat that should not have been conceived. No floors, no walls, no ceilings, no frames, only a welcome mat that does not welcome.

The welcome mat is worn and old, frail and discolored made of unsuitable materials at its conception. The dew evaporates before impact and the egg rolls in the other direction.

Creeping in the dark to hide the ravages of time from observing eyes. Asleep when asleep yet thinking it’s awake. A universe completely unaware of the welcome mat’s existence.

Yet, there is good in all this somewhere. The welcome mat is unlikely to find this goodness not even underneath a rug. But there is good somewhere and maybe never. Never somewhere or anywhere on this side of universal unawareness of the welcome mat’s existence.