Why? I want to shake you hard and ask, or persist in my usual strident shrill harridan mode why why when what oh really! But intrinsically, whittled to the core, it’s a why, and with the benefit of the silver that liberally peppers black, I know yes, there is no why, not really. It just is, like a thread that bravely put on a front for so long, patched and spliced a couple of times, but was gradually frayed at the ends; till one day that was it. Enough. So I tiptoe away from these flame points, and sit by and share your silences. Day by day, I say.