Fruitless and failing

I can see my happiness growing out of arms reach.
Balancing carefully on his fingertips as I watch him grow taller.

He has transformed from my rock to my tree.
Swaying in the wind I am creating to expose his branches.
He has become something to stare at.
Fruitless and bare.

The climb is unfamiliar on my way up to this happiness I feel he holds up there.
If I shake him it never falls down.

And so I chase after it, wrapping my legs around him one by one.
I pull myself closer and each time I fall I land flat and confused.
Arms scratched and ego bruised, I get up.

I shake him again.

If only I would realize...

He would meet me half way if I learned to stop creating the wind and see that he is not that much taller than I.