One sky, three signs.

You know what everyone in the room is feeling and would rather discuss almost anything else.

A Libra moon refuels on harmony you can hear: beauty, fairness, a room with no live argument in it. Discord costs you double what it costs the others.

You start in public and start in private: a life of first chapters, inside and out. Endings are a skill to hire, or to marry.

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

Strangers tell you their opinions; you seem like you will discuss them. It is a lobby, not the house: the water lives further in.

In a room, you have already talked to three strangers and learned the dog's name. Off duty, it's the playlist tuned for company, and the question 'what do you want?' asked twice as often as answered. The first is the Gemini at your door; the second is the Libra that lives in the house.

Door and house speak the same dialect: ideas at the threshold, ideas in the kitchen. Feelings use the side entrance; leave it unlocked.

Two parts Air, one part Water, and the Water sits in your sun. The minority voice is why parliaments work: when the air consensus feels too easy, that is the vote to consult.

A field guide, for whoever keeps trying: Come in curious; this door opens for a real question. Once inside, give the conversation that doesn't check its watch: love here arrives through the ear. Send it to the ones who knock.

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.