Your voice itches to explain itself, and something underneath asks you, now and then, to just sit there and be. Mercury holds the word that proves at one end of your chart, the Sun the presence that already suffices at the other. Speak, and you feel you are auditioning for your own seat. Go quiet, and a low worry says you let what you saw go unsaid. So you talk too much from a fear of fading out, then fall so silent the best of you slips past the room unseen. Round after round, you stop using words to earn your place. You are already here, plainly. The sentence can be a gift now, instead of a piece of evidence.