the question

the question popped up in my head but i didn't ask it. i didn't ask it because things had been agreed, signed and sealed and so the question couldn't or shouldn't be asked. i didn't ask because i wasn't sure which answer i wanted or which answer i would get. the question remained hanging there by the stairs. the question followed me up the steps, into the flat, out into the terrace. there it lingered for a while and then in fluttered away. the question may have fluttered all the way to his ears. and played around in his mind, turning this way and that. or it may have fluttered all the way to some other girl's brain. at the bottom of some other stairs. and that girl may have known what answer she may have wanted to hear. so she may have asked the question and got the right answer. or maybe she got the wrong answer and she wished she never asked. or the question may have remained fluttering around over london, with the crows and the ravens, and somewhere somehow some girl and some boy will wake up together, or separately, the next day, with one less question between them to remain.