We were walking in summertime
when I pointed out the cottage to you.
Clematis tumbling over stone,
like something from a forgotten fairytale.
You called it beautiful!
At first.
But as we carried on,
you began to pull it apart.
Said you wouldn’t want that on your own house.
“Too hard to control.
Damaging to the integrity.
A threat to the market value.”
I stood there, scolded for my hopeless romanticism.
I tried to justify the creeping, oppressive beauty.
Fumbling over my words:
I told you I didn’t care if it crumbled,
let us just enjoy how it holds for now.
Now it’s the next summer.
I walk past alone, free to indulge myself,
admiring twirling petals and thick, twisted bark.
Maybe love twines like ivy?
Clinging quietly,
softening edges,
pressing into cracks,
covering flaws.
Until you can no longer see
what holds together the wall beneath.