At one end of the axis the Sun wants to be seen and approved of as it shines. At the other the lunar apogee holds the self that will not be made palatable. They face off across the gap, and neither lives without the other pushing back: your need to be recognized stares straight at the part you were told to bury, and the untamed self bristles every time you angle to be liked. Some days you polish the image and lose the exiled core under the gloss. Other days the disowned self breaks the bright surface clean. Your identity matures not by hiding the wild part, but by letting it stand across from the self that wants the light.
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