"All Right. For Now." is a song from inside an autistic meltdown, where sound has edges, light has weight, and words run out. The title is what a person says when they can't explain but want to reassure someone: I'm okay. The "for now" is where the truth lives.

The music follows the experience: restrained verses that feel like counting to hold yourself together, then a thickening, fracturing wall of sound, and then silence. That silence is the center of the song, exhausted and tender.

Through it all, the narrator sees the parent who is always there, lowering their voice, dimming the lights, waiting without demanding anything. And then the question that's almost too big to say: who will do this when you're gone?

It isn't self-pity. It's an honest fear, and the song lets it stand. For the person in the middle of it, and the one sitting beside them in the dark: this is what it's like in here, and thank you for staying.