why now why when I am a cliff's last breath, leaning, why when the blood of my small victories dries into dust, why when my teeth have learned to grind sorrow into muscle? why now you arrive at my breaking like a guest who forgot the invitation was to a funeral. why knock when the house has learned to sleep on its grief? where were you when I stitched my ribs with silence, when I practiced carrying myself like a loaded cart? where were you when I pressed my palms to the hollow and met only the echo of my own name? why now when I've learned not to lean on palms that promise, when love became a currency I can no longer spend, when affection became a foreign land I'm too tired to visit. I am a map of defeats; I have learned to walk alone. you come with hands full of explanations and light, like someone carrying lanterns after the lights went out. but the room remembers the dark as home. the burden I have become is architecture: load-bearing sorrow, rooms lined with old excuses. why now when I've rehearsed my goodbyes, polite and exact, when my laughter has been practiced and smuggled away, when happiness became a coin I hide, afraid to spend. why appear when I've traded in my hope?