The Question

The question:
the boy.
Why him?
Why me?
Why then?
Why now?
Did he ever love me?

It is over.
I loved him.
It is over.
This ache.
Hot tears, even now.
Why now?

What if things had been different?
What if I had held on longer,
What if I had done more?
What if I had never done anything,
Blew him off from the start.
Perhaps I should have.
Perhaps not.
I know that it is better to have loved
And lost...
But it is worse to feel so lost.
It is worse to feel this way.

Pain.
Silence.
Night.

What do I entertain you?
WHAT AM I?
WHY?

Just leave me to the silence,
Prison that it is to me.