A week of second-guessing can turn every instinct into a debate, until you can't tell a signal from the static around it.

Yellow giving to teal, a quiet iridescence. It sounds like water over stones and tastes faintly of mint.

Second-guessing can feel like rigor; mostly it just talks the signal to death. It tells you nothing — it holds a clear place to catch the first quiet read before the week's debate buries it.