your tender attention

I can’t count the times we unconsciously agreed. There were so many. I’d bend, you’d stretch. Our dance was one of joy, often enough. Your mere presence inspired buds to burst forth from my exhausted limbs, even when the light was skewed by your stories.

I made so many promises—to be reliable, forgiving, humble, unimportant, without the request of your tender attention. It was in the winter—that the struggle grew more clear—when my bending for you left cracks in my stems.

For so long, I looked beyond winter—avoiding its call for reflection—to spring when life pushed through our veins with passion, giving birth to lush beauty. By late summer, it was impossible to tell where your bounty ended and mine began. Your fragrant blooms were so captivating, it was easy to ignore how my branches were twisting to support you.

I grew in spite of the burden of being your trellis. For so long, I cherished that role. Until our last winter together, when the cracks in my stems became too much to bear alone—I needed to lean on you too. I hesitantly asked for your tender attention—only to find rejection and the tying off of the light that once rejoiced between us.

Sometimes love is not enough to ward off the dance of survival. Sometimes, we compete for the light without intending to do so.

I hope someday you will finally see me and offer that long-awaited tender attention. But, until then—we'll need to grow apart.