At one end of the axis Mercury picks each word so it lands soft. At the other the lunar apogee holds the thought that will not be made acceptable. They face off across the gap, and neither stands alone: your wish to be understood stares straight at the idea you were told to bury, and the untamed thinking bristles every time you reach to be liked. Some days you sand the words down until they say nothing. Other days the buried idea breaks through and scorches the room. The two keep speaking across the divide, and that exchange is the work. Your mind sharpens not by silencing the unsayable, but by holding it across from the part of you that still wants to build a bridge.
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