Why

 

You ask,  “Why?” 

  And I hesitate.  

 You ask why? 

as if you're asking about the weather 

As if the answer could be told over a cup of tea or while watching TV.

You ask why?

 While passing the toothpaste,

 while buttoning my shirt,

 or handing me my tea

You ask why? 

as if  the answer could be summed up in two words, fit into one text message, or easily assumed 

You ask why?

So I say, "This is the wrong question."

 you say “Why?” 

 Another “why,” I say. 

 “Okay, What?" If not why Is What the right question for you?” 

  I hesitate once more

  

I wish I could say:  “when” 

 when is the right question 

 When! 

 when! 

 when! 

  

Maybe when you kissed my neck instead of my cheek,

 When you whispered in my ear in an empty room, 

Or held my pieces and gave them a home.

Maybe every time you squeeze my elbow, take a nap on my shoulder, or leaned on my side

 

Every time I found shelter in your jacket, sanctuary behind your back, and magnets in your hands, and every time you held me and I held you back.

Maybe when you spilled your secrets, 

crushed my reluctance, 

and opened the doors in my mind.

When you showed me your dance moves in a crowded street and I couldn’t hear your laughter over my heartbeat. 

But mostly, it all started the day you drove back to let me hug you.

When I told you I hadn't gotten to give you a proper goodbye

at your doorstep, I hugged you so hard that I realized it was a lie. 

I’ll never be able to give you a proper goodbye. 

 But  you say, “Why?” 

 While wiping my tears

 While smoothing the damage you caused in my hair  

 You say why 

As if it’s regular like “Good morning”,

 predictable like “good night” and insignificant like “Hi”

And I hesitate

I tell you “why” is the wrong question 

But I  don’t have the proper language to tell you why