“Why.”
“Why?”
“WHY?!”
Still cradling the one that was to be my husband in my arms,
I scream angrily at the gunman- who is on his stomach in handcuffs.
I can see him, looking up at me from the distance.
I can see into his wide-open eyes; the helpless look on his face.
I hate him. For the rest of my lonely life I will hate him.
“Why?! Answer me!”
But I already knew the answer.
It was because he didn’t think our love was real. He didn’t think I was real. None of them did.
Through the tears and at the top of my lungs now, I scream:
“Is this real enough for you?! Huh?!
Are these tears real enough for you?!”
Giving me one last confused look, he is dragged beyond the wooden doors and down the steps outside.
I sit in the sullen silence that has taken over this church, softly crying.
As I hold my beloved in my arms I begin to think to myself
How much I wished I really was the machine they all thought I was,
Just so I wouldn’t have to feel the pain I feel now.