The mind reaches to name it, and the chest tightens: do not name it, the word will kill the feeling. The Moon squares Mercury, the thought that translates raw against the emotion that resists being translated. Speak too soon and you betray what you felt. Stay quiet and the feeling sits there with no language until it hardens. The bill came in conversations where you said the wrong thing, and silences that set like a wall. The grind drilled in patience: wait until the emotion has a shape before you hand it a sentence. The word that arrives late is sometimes the only true one. Out of all that friction grew an emotional eloquence few ever reach.