it's strange, this feeling that settles behind my eyes when someone sees something differently, not in a combative way, just…unexplored, a new room in the same house, how many rooms are there? and do we ever really know what’s inside them until someone else names them. the taste of iron in my throat feels like an apology from my own brain for not being big enough, for not seeing enough, i think i keep moving because i think the world will fill my skull eventually, like my skull is a glass i keep trying to fill with the ocean…and it never overflows.