To the “questioner” I love.
He asked me to stop crying.
He asked me to start trying.
He asked me why I’d grown weak.
He asked me why I was silent.
He asked me to heal my wings.
He asked me why I don’t try flying.
He asked me why I was always crying.
He asked me not how I had fallen
He asked me not who tore my wings.
He asked me to hold his hand,
He asked me to take him to the distant land.
He asked me not to thrive in self-pity,
He asked me to provide light at night.
He asked me to avoid the fire from dying.
He asked me to stop people from lying.
He asked me to hold him near.
He asked me if I could be his dear.
He asked me never to leave him
He asked to take him with me where ever I went
He asked me not to let my anger vent
He asked me to achieve all that I dreamt.
He asked me if I knew what I was,
He asked me if I was an angel?
He asked me if I could change the world.
With that; to his heart, my hand he’d hold.
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