Why Did You Ask?

Why did you ask me to explain everything in detail, when your mere presence already brings me into a state of loss for words?

Why did you ask me why I was acting weird, when your attentive stare is what makes me wonder how should I behave?

Why did you ask me if I was sleepy, when I would never want to close my eyes with you in my sight?

Why did you ask me to rest, when your shoulder is where I would lie my head onto?

Why did you ask me where I would go back to, when right by your side is the only place I feel at home?

Why did you ask me to sit next to you, when I would rather be in front of you to look right into your eyes and say all of these thoughts out loud?

Why did you ask me if there was anything you could do to help, when you're the reason for this helplessness I'm feeling—of not being able to control nor hinder myself from falling faster and deeper in love than I have ever been before?

Why did you ask me?

Why did you ask?

Why?