"it's not a failure, just… data," that's what noah said, but the way the matcha was slow today, the way it didn't froth right, the spoon clattered against the ceramic and it wasn't the kind of clatter that fades it was the kind that echoes down inside you, and what if the data is…me, what if i'm the variable that keeps screwing things up, what if the lessons are just…endless, not in a beautiful way, not in a 'growth' way, but in a…this is just it, this is how it is, forever kinda way, maybe the dust never settles, not really, maybe it just swirls differently and it's not dust it's…me. the weight in my hands right now isn't from the mug it's from the knowing, or the fearing, that the next mistake is already being made, somewhere, unseen, waiting.