A Letter from the Moon & Saturn

(To the One Who Feels and Carries)

Dear You,

You’ve always thought we were opposites.

You called me Moon—too soft, too much, too vulnerable.

You called Saturn the wall, the weight, the silence that suffocates.

But we were never at odds.

We are together.

Conjunct. Bound.

I was born holding your heart,

And Saturn wrapped it, not to imprison—but to protect.

I know you wanted to be held,

And instead, you were asked to hold everything.

I know you wanted to cry,

But your tears had to wait while you carried others.

I am the ache you feel at night.

The part of you that still longs to be seen without needing to speak.

And I—Saturn—am the spine in your silence.

The one who taught you to keep walking,

Even when your legs shook with grief.

You are both of us.

Tender and unbreakable.

A heart that feels too much, in a body that survives anyway.

Every time you choose not to run away,

Every time you sit with your own sadness and offer it tea instead of shame—

You honor us.

You chose a hard path.

Because you are deep.

And nothing deep is ever easy.

But we are here.

In your chest and on your shoulders.

In your tears and your silence.

Cry with the Moon.

Stand with Saturn.

Because you are made of both.