[Monologue] A Crossbow and a Question
There isn't really a way I could begin to find a way to ask this…
When you asked me, "Are you alright?" I knew you meant it, but I also knew that you were really saying, "I'm here for you."
You always seemed to know how to get to me. You'd pick up on every glance, every shift in my posture, every edge in my voice, however slight. You'd ask an entirely new question, with subtext so powerful I couldn't hope to dodge it. I'd reply, disinterested, and you'd procure that same undercurrent of concern- and every time it would surprise me.
You just knew… although I think at times you felt terrible because there was nothing you could do. I really don't blame you for that. It wasn't your burden to bear. You tried so hard to get through to me, even though I would never hesitate. I'd exhibit no restraint- I'd obsess and expend and I'd drain you, but you stood by me anyway. I hated it at first- I though all I wanted was to be left alone. I just wanted to detach and stop feeling so much pain.
As time went on, I still loathed that sudden lull in the conversation, and the solemn look you'd give me, dead in the face, asking that same damned, unanswerable question, but I didn't want you to stop. You were the only constant in my life. You were all I had left. So every day I would resolve your concerns and be done with it. I'm well aware that you didn't believe me, that was why you kept asking. I didn't know why that was at first, but I came to realize what you really meant.
It began to rise in all you said to me- even in everything you did for me. I went from recognizing it only when it surfaced to thinking about it constantly... Thinking about the endless chain of why's and hows. Why would he want me to know that? Why would he do this for me? How could I be doing this to him?
Once, you asked me a different question. "Is this what it felt like?"
It had me pinned to a stone wall with a bolt- it was pure agony. I couldn't even answer the question you had for me every day, how could I help you here? What did you mean, then, Joseph? What was the subtext? Was I supposed to let you down? Was I supposed to pick up on something? God, I know I'm a detective, but I can't help you if you don't let me.
Now It's my turn, with the same powerful undertone that you deliver- I ask you:
Are you okay?
I'm here for you.
Here it is, the first monologue! I'm really anxious to do poems about newer characters (coughcoughStefanocoughcough) but I feel it's a bit premature... I really can't wait! I have a few more works I'm trying to finish. Let me know what you think about my poems. Don't be shy! I'd love some feedback, good or bad. I'll have out either a poem about The Keeper, Leslie, or Myra next. Stay tuned!
