Big week, lovers! Mercury is still in retrograde, Neptune turned backward on the seventh, and there’s a new moon in Cancer on Tuesday, which means the past comes back up whether you asked for it or not. You’ve been refreshing this page at 3 am with his mother’s name still open in the other tab.
Good news: they’re finally paying attention. They’ve read everything. Every text you sent and deleted, every performance, every small kindness you withheld to keep the upper hand. The transits are exact now. The karmic books are split wide open on the table, bones and all, still warm.
Have a graceful out prepared. It won’t help.
For those who fake their orgasms. The moon penetrates your house this week, which means the next time he’s inside you, you’ll perform your finest orgasm yet. Isn’t that what you wanted? Moaning on cue is your talent. One ought to be proud of that. But the stars have grown tired of your performance. This week they give you what you faked — and it won’t stop. You’ll come while talking to your boss. You’ll come at your little sister’s birthday party. You’ll convulse until you have no control over your own body anymore. And no matter the pleading, the praying, it won’t stop.
For the serial lovers. Venus leaves your house this weekend. The gods have treated you like their own son, long enough. The stars are sick of your cheating ways. Have you ever stood on the other side of your bed? Careful now: no gambling, no drinking, no lighting matches in a dry field. Your own body keeps the count now. Your spine grows a blade for each one, one vertebra at a time. You’ll scream in agony, but who will help you now, dearest cheater? Not the ones you called in the dark. They’re all in the room, and they’ve been waiting to see which name you use.
For the gaslighters. Dearest blame-shifter, you’ve been writing her memories for years. She recites them back to you and believes you, mostly, because she loves you and because she’s tired. Neptune twists in your house of perception this month. “That never happened.” “You’re crazy.” “You have a terrible memory.” “Trust is everything, you’re ruining everything.” This week the stars come for you. While you’re mounting her, you say someone else’s name, and she asks about it. Your mouth opens to deny it again. Your forehead cracks open. Grey matter pushes out through the split skin and plays her memories back in her voice. The blood falls on her face. She doesn’t wipe it away. She stays under you, every memory proven, and she laughs. She climaxes at the thought of your deserved agony. She will tell everyone at work. Your peers. Your mother. And you’ll spend what’s left of you explaining that it isn’t what it looks like. Wasn’t it all in your head?
For those who shapeshift in the name of love. Pluto enters your house, delusional lover. Beware a big transformation: the stars know you don’t mind transforming, but this time there’s no going back. You’ve shapeshifted too many times. Your body has forgotten how to hold a shape. Your fingertips go smooth, the ridges running off like brie left too long in the sun. Who’s gonna love your crush now that you are your crush? He’ll find what’s left of you pooled in the chair, and he’ll get on his knees — not to beg. He ingests every last drop. Horoscopes always come with a silver lining.
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If you’re just flirting:
— Love, klara
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