I was a root, just at the beginning stages of growth, waiting to pop out of the soil and see what I would become. When my nose poked through the soft ground I saw myself surrounded by vines, tall and thin and flexible, intertwined with the lattice white fence, clinging to its strong bones.
I was eager to finally be tall enough to wrap my body around yours, but I grew slowly. Day after day, just a mere sprout in the ground, I stared enviously at the marriage of vine and fence.
I was growing, but not quickly enough. I became angry, sure I would never reach your skeleton. I began to give up hope and had plans to grow down, away from you, in spite of my instinct to reach up towards the sun.
Then one day, in my bitterness and frustration, my tallest leaf bumped your lowest lattice. Surprised, I looked up, and there you were. We had finally met.
Over the weeks, my arms made their way around every one of your holdings. I twisted and twirled, happily growing in a beautiful pattern around your being.
But the clouds grew dark and the winds picked up and even the thickest and oldest trees shuddered and groaned as the angry rain battered their leaves.
With a quick gust, the wind picked you up and off the ground, carrying you away on its current. My vines, so closely attached to yours, ripped from my stalk and were swept away with you.
All that was left of me were my roots, buried deeply underground, safe, but not whole. Not ok.
What had taken me all that time to grow, my beautiful vines that stretched so delicately along your surface, was gone in an instant.
I find myself at the start, under the soil, with no choice but to sit patiently while my life starts over. Without you.