You try to leave the familiar ground and the wild self hooks you crosswise, the leaving and the old defiance grinding at a hard angle. Lilith, the Black Moon at the lunar apogee, the exiled self, crosses the south node, the lunar point of the well-worn past you are meant to set down, at a right angle. The pull to keep snarling the way you always have keeps clashing with the strain of moving on. You know this struggle: baring your teeth at the old wound while something in you claws to walk away. That friction is built into the leaving. Leaned into, it pries the stale defiance loose, any release cut against exactly this resistance.
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