Your body fires first and your chest catches up a beat later, once you have already started something you are not sure of. The Moon squares Mars, the instant reflex rasping against the slow feeling underneath. Act, and you betray yourself a little. Sit with the feeling, and you twitch at not moving. The bill came in blowups where you went off before you even knew what had hurt, and held silences that turned into something physical. The grind drilled in one held minute before any reaction that counts. Force with the feeling folded in lands completely differently. What you carry now is a wise kind of fury, the kind that guards a thing instead of smashing it.
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