Cancer sun, Libra moon.

You keep the peace and eat the cost.

Cardinal water, cardinal air: the host with the tide. You read the room, then feed it, then absorb its static. The fairness you give the table is owed to your own chair too.

Discord costs you double what it costs the others.

A Libra moon refuels on harmony you can hear: beauty, fairness, a room with no live argument in it. You can host a war and never show it, but the invoice arrives in your body later.

Endings are a skill to hire, or to marry.

You start in public and start in private: a life of first chapters, inside and out. The enthusiasm is real every single time, which is what makes the abandonments so confusing to bystanders.

You are not a typical Cancer; nobody with this moon is.

The internet writes Cancer off as a mood with legs. Your Libra moon rewrites the chemistry: the needs underneath are narrated, argued, and footnoted. What looks like feeling less is thinking about feeling, at length, in private.

Feed the moon first: say the inner weather out loud, to one person or one page.

Unspoken it becomes static; spoken it becomes weather you can fly in. Keep one correspondent who receives the unedited forecast.