Block and mortar loom overhead: taunting me from heights i have not reached
I trace there, small cracks in weather-worn stone
yet sturdy and dependable, beautiful even as my fingers ****** under your touch
and, i fit.
I cling and cower in the face of your shadow,
as my fingerprints mar the path i have chosen
oh, dear wall
I wish you would care for my fate
hold me and acknowledge my efforts, most sincere.
I am small, ******, nearly-breaking
wind whipped cheeks, blotchy, tear-streaked
protect me, keep me safe as i admire you for what you are.
Yet there you remain, indifferent to my desire
breathtaking even while you crumble where i struggle to grasp.

I am slipping.
I am falling.
Can I pretend that I am flying?