when you found me, I was barely hanging on.
shocked and shaken and shackled to the broken memories of my own shattered wishes and dreams,
I’d found a quiet spot to perch upon my ladder and had decided to wait a while
there, trusting I’d find a way to unstick my stubborn foot at some point or another.
not expecting anyone to help.
not expecting you.
you loosened my death grip a bit with a brush of your hand
as you propped your little ladder next to mine.
I noticed even then how yours was bruised, almost unsightly, definitely not at all
what it could be
but I had no room to talk, the state mine was in.
we climbed together for a time,
and a time more.
my precious ladder restoring itself to its highest potential,
lest it be criticized by my perfectionist ways.
(surely by now it knows better than to stay battered for long.)
it’d been through the worst with me and now it was
eventually I consciously noticed your ladder’s chipped paint and dreary condition.
can’t you just?
won’t you try?
shouldn’t you do?
exhausted and impatient, I continued my climb,
leaving you behind.
alone and able to go at my own pace, speeding up and
slowing down whenever the hell I want to.
without anyone around to notice
how I’ve found
another quiet spot to perch upon, just
for a while.