why now is this mercy or test? rehearsal? trick of timing? do you arrive because I am small enough to pick up, or because I am tired enough to stop resisting? why wait until the bones remember their names? you say you were always somewhere a soft weather behind curtains but I felt storms. I felt metal in quiet night's mouth. were you holding other suns while mine guttered? learning to keep yourself whole before teaching me? why now because pain expands and I am its house. because my love was taught false by ghosts, and being loved feels like permission never granted. because I carry grievances and call it home. why now I ask to name this arrival: a boat at low tide, light in a sealed tunnel. tell me how to believe in water again. tell me where to place my trembling hands. if you answer be gentle. no small words. don't say time heals without showing work. if rescue, no sirens to wake old alarms. if love, teach me the grammar slowly. why now because I'm tired of asking; because the question is a prayer with cracked vowels. because when I die in small ways or one breath I want to know if you watched the folding. so stay, or tell me you will leave. if you anchor, don't glance and move on. don't become another rehearsal for ruin. arrive meaning it or not at all. why now I ask, throat a raw bell. if beginning, let it be stubborn. if end, give me dignity of knowing. I have carried much; a burden learned alone. why now you tell me, voice not rain nor apology: I was always here.