it's not that i'm afraid of being wrong, exactly… it's more like the pressure in my forehead, right behind my eyes, when i realize i've been living inside someone else's question, not my own. feels like i have to re-learn how to breathe, expand back into my own skin, like the body remembers the shape it was before the question took root. and now i'm wondering if that's what grief really is, just the ache of remembering a shape that's no longer possible.