Why? A poem

Why?

Why him.

He had so much more to give.

Why now.

There wasn't enough time.

Why not me instead.

I ask the ceiling.

I ask the dark.

I ask the coffee going cold

in my hands.

No one answers.

No one ever does.

I ask the road he drove.

I ask the phone

that doesn't ring

with his name anymore.

I ask God.

I ask nothing,

because maybe that's

what's listening.

Why does the world

keep going...

the mail still comes,

the grass still grows,

like it doesn't know

what it took from me.

I don't want a reason.

I want him back.

But I ask anyway.

Why...

because asking

is the only proof

I still exist

in a world

that no longer

makes sense.