The Question

I’ve travelled half the world to ask a question.
Half of it my testimony to failure, my confession.
And when I arrive, I freeze.

You, sitting there, in dark rimmed glasses,
Me, standing in the door, like a child skipping classes.

Gathering strength to speak those words
But they’re fickle like tiny little birds

And when I finally cannot bear the tension,
I whisper... Can I have a no cost extension?