Your chest pushes to spill over and your jaw clamps down, all good manners and do-not-be-a-bother. The Moon sits at one pole with the feeling that needs out, Saturn at the opposite with the wall that keeps it in. Hold it and you smother a little. Let it out and a verdict drops: too much. You learned young to bank what you felt so the house stayed quiet, and you carry that old loyalty long after anyone asked it of you. Let the feeling take its place without knocking first. What you feel deserves a room too, and that room has to open inside you before it can open out. That order is what keeps you.