QUESTIONS
It's raining today. I knew it would be. They said people are sad when it rains, but I know that it rains when I'm sad. It always does. God, why does it hurt so bad? I wish I could drink the hurt away. Why do I have to be carrying this baby? Why does it have to be his? Why did he go? I know he didn't want to, I know he didn't mean to, but I can't help feeling like it is his fault. I feel like it's more my fault. Why'd he had to be there? Why didn't realize he didn't have to be Superman? How come he didn't know he didn't have to be my hero? Didn't he know I'd have taken it just to spare him? He ought to know. He ought to know by now. Why didn't he get it? Why was it so hard? Why is it so hard? Why couldn't he just remain faithful to his wife? Why he go and play around with me? Why did he burden me with this?
Why the hell is she looking at me like that? Well, duh, she thinks you killed her ex. Her ex,...why is she so broken up over him? How could she still love him? How could she still care? How could she stand aside as he flushed twenty years of commitment down the toilet? How could she? How is she able to? I want to believe, deep down, that those are only crocodile tears, but I know they're as genuine as my own. How can she be here, acting civil toward me? How can she not say what her face conveys? Why is walking toward me? How can she say those words-those words that are meant to be comforting, but only sting more? How can she?
How could he sit there, looking so solemn? Why isn't he crying? Isn't he hurting as much as I am? I know-he's hiding behind those glasses. That's got to be it. Yep, cause sure as day, when he takes them off, his eyes are moist. Why doesn't he just let it out? He knows he wants to. I know he wants to. Guess he can't hurt his ego. I don't know. He probably doesn't know. Who does know? Who knows the person who knows? Sigh, I know I must look a mess. Don't they get it?
Here he comes, sliding up rocking his ponytail and leather jacket. He obviously isn't worried about his ego: he is openly crying. Not sobbing like I am, but his tears are visible. How close were they? Closer than I thought, I guess. Why didn't he stop him? Why he make him let me be? Stop it, it's not his fault anymore than it's mine. It's not anyone's fault. So why do I want to blame the world? Why won't the world take the blame? Why am I burdened by this guilt?
Why are those gunshots so loud? Why are they echoing? Why are echoing in my ear like the hurt lingers in my heart? Why can't I erase it? Why can't it just go away? And why is he looking at me with those large child-like eyes? Is that pity I see? Why is it everywhere I go, I see pity? Well, guess what? I don't need the pity. I don't need the sympathy. I don't need the kind words. I don't need the apologies for my loss. I don't need the looks. I don't need the accusations. I don't need them. I don't want them. I won't accept them. So why is he still looking at me? Watching me? Why is he here, dressed up in his uniform? Why am I her, dressed up in my uniform? Why are we all here, dressed up i our uniforms? Why, why, why? Why did have to go? Why now? Why, when I needed him most? Why, when I wanted him most? Why, when I loved him most? Why, why, why?
Why did it stop raining? Why are the clouds breaking apart? Who said the sun could come out? Who said the sun could return, when I know he won't? Who gave it permission? Who gave that bastard permission to screw up my life like this? Who told that bastard to take him away from me? Where are they going with him? Where are they taking him? Why are they lowering him into the ground? Why are are mumbling incoherent chants? Are they praying? They are. Why? Why are they covering him with dirt? They'll suffocate him. Where am I going? Why are my feet moving, when I haven't told them to? Why am I standing by this hole they've stuck him in? Why did this flower come from? Why is it in my hand and why am I dropping in this hole? This hole that is his gateway to heaven. Why? Why am I crying now? Shouldn't I be happy that he's free? Shouldn't I be happy he's not living with pain? Should I be mad that he left me living with pain? Shouldn't he have known that I loved him? He ought to. He ought to know.
A/N: I wrote this because I had a writer's block attack while working on Backtrack. No need to worry, I haven't forgotten about it.