Where The Ivy Found Me

“Don’t worry, I’ll still be here.”

When your bed

wraps you in a colder embrace

than any pair of arms ever could,

when the clouds grow jealous of your light

and pull gray curtains across your sky,

when the rain falls harder

than either of us prepared for,

I’ll still answer.

When the weight upon your shoulders

teaches your knees to bow,

when every breath feels borrowed

from an atmosphere too heavy to forgive,

when the thoughts inside your mind

shed their names

and return as enemies,

I’ll be there.

I’ll forget the months

spent stitching myself together.

I’ll forget the distance

I fought so desperately to keep.

I’ll forget every reason

I stopped speaking your name

like it was a prayer

that never reached heaven.

I’ll gather the pieces

you no longer have the strength to hold.

I’ll remind you

that tomorrow is still worth meeting.

I’ll walk beside you

until your footsteps

no longer tremble.

And then,

like every season before,

you’ll bloom again,

and I’ll remain.

Rooted where you left me,

a forgotten statue

in an abandoned garden,

silent enough for moss,

patient enough for ivy.

Time will cover me,

leaf by leaf,

vine by vine,

until even my face

is no longer recognizable.

Then one day,

when another storm

finds its way to your doorstep,

you’ll remember

there was once

a monument

that never learned

how to walk away.

And somehow,

beneath all that ivy,

I’ll still be waiting.