Your mind reaches to be understood, and the thought that pleases no one pulls hard the other way, the two set ninety degrees apart and grinding each other into shape. Mercury and Lilith sit square: clear communication and the idea you would not house-train crowd each other constantly. You have paid for saying the unsayable at the wrong moment, for choosing the cutting word over the careful one and then living inside the silence that followed. The Black Moon is no asteroid in orbit, it is the weight the sentences are built to carry. That grinding carves a way of thinking that owes nothing to the manual, a voice shaped by every time the exiled idea refused to stay quiet.
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