Lip Service and Dynamic Stall

Here's me pretending not to care that you don't; a blushing baroness in a bright biplane doing aeronautical acrobatics, full of nail-biting, mid-air, semantic collisions. Do you remember when we met? I wanted to tell you how much I loved you immediately but I wasn't sure if I'd ever see you again. I thought you were divine, and maybe I even still think that, in secret, a little, but don't tell anyone. I look at the taut skin on my small, abused hands and I think to myself, "You don't have very much fight left in you, Old Girl. Not enough to go another twelve." And maybe I even believe that, in secret, a little, but don't tell anyone. If free will is an illusion, it is a convincing one.