At one end a definite hurt you could point to on a map; pulling against it, a longing to melt every boundary into the infinite. Chiron and Neptune face across the axis, defining each other: the wound keeps the pain specific and yours, the dream keeps trying to dissolve it into something larger and nameless. Some days you spiritualize the hurt so thoroughly it stops belonging to you. Some days the raw ache refuses every consolation you reach for. One yearning, seen from two ends. Fleeing into the boundless does not end the strain, it only hides it; the precise wound and the vast hope have to keep correcting each other, tug for tug, or the dream curdles.