Catechize

It was the most blunt, blatant, straight-forward question I could contrive; despite the number of "what ifs", "how" and big "why's" that's been playing on my subconsciousness. 

I (or fate- if there's such a thing) never allowed myself to cater questions with answers insignificant for the optimal functioning of the present. But these questions imply answers I couldn't conjure on my own, hence started haunting me up until now. 

I look at you, with your eyes cowardly smiling back then looks away at the horizon. You've been a craven ever since, unable to back up words you utter or the deeds that you make, hoping your charm would save you from the treachery and embarrassment you've placed yourself into.

I feel the rage ripening inside me. I've been squeezing the arm of this wooden chair as if it's my stronghold, the only way to keep my decency intact in public. For I know that you wouldn't answer that one fucking simple question. Just like the other questions of "why" that you dodged. 

You see, it wasn't me who initiated this game of connect-the-dots. I drop things immediately once they started hurting me. And this game is like pricking your finger on a hot pan repeatedly again and again after it burned your skin. It wasn't my business anymore and I was ready to let things as it is until your lover messaged me behind your back and tried to acquaint me. 

Too bad that I answered some of my questions in that kind of way. The reason why you behave and acted that way. Now I am left with why and that great question I just asked. 

I looked at your seat and see you slowly vanishing in front of me. With my questions wring out in the smoke I blew. And my rage steaming out of my macchiato. Until you disappeared in front of me and my anger evaporated into thin air.

And here's one of those nights I would sleep with the undecided conclusion on what do I really need; your Answer or my Revenge.