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You asked me why.

Why tears are running down my cheeks like lava out of an erupting volcano?

Why the good people always die in the films we curled around eachother to watch with only a blanket for company?

Why the leaves on the trees we climbed turn amber like the sun setting on the season of Spring?

Why in the horizon the sun was setting on your smiles and my laughs, while we just drank the vodka we'd stolen from my parents' alcohol cupboard?

Why the empty silences follow all of our shouting matches while the bleachers are littered with the trash of the crowds that we once called friends?

Why my arm looked like a railroad track when we met until you kissed all of the trains away?

Why I have never felt such a colossal pain as the one that is attempting to rip my soul in two as I stare into your hollow green eyes, where there's just a ghost of the sparkle that I fell in love with left?

Such a loaded question.

I tell you, "I am staring into the soulless barrel of a gun. I never thought you'd pull the trigger."

Does that answer your question?