A sentence leaves your mouth and you watch it rearrange the air in the room. The speed of your thinking shows up on the outside of you before you decide to share it, because Mercury sits in your first house, the house of the body and the first impression. It is in the eyes, in the quick lift of the hands, in the way you reach for the next word a beat ahead of the rest of the sentence. People bet on you being clever inside the first thirty seconds, and they keep watching to see if you can hold it. You usually can. The instrument wears thin when it is used without rest, every silence filled because filling it feels like staying alive. Let a pause do some of the talking. Say one true thing and let it sit there alone, no chaser, no joke to soften it. A mind that knows when to go quiet is the one people carry home. The one that never stops just fades into the background by next week.