A Crack
That person was touching the ivy leaves. Looking at the spot where the vine, climbing along a crack, had stopped high on the wall, they seemed to be guessing how slowly it had come this far. I watched the fingertips of that person whose name I didn't know. It was morning. For as long as they stayed, I stood there too.
Once the ivy climbs all the way up the wall, there's sky above it. I too, one morning, watched rainwater pooled on the windowsill.