Zodiac Depths

Your hustle isn’t hunger, it’s a shield. You stack hours like armor because silence feels like rejection and rest feels like disappearing. You confuse pings with affection, deadlines with devotion, exhaustion with proof. You call it ambition. It’s avoidance. You’re not building a legacy; you’re bargaining for applause. The work keeps growing. The target keeps moving. Your nervous system is not a scoreboard.

Mars in your chest loves friction, so you create it. Overwork gives you a clean script: do more, feel less. It drowns the tremor under your ribs that hates being misunderstood. But momentum without meaning erodes instinct. You bulldoze nuance, miss timing, treat people like checkpoints. Productivity becomes a costume. Real respect arrives when you choose precision over volume, recovery over spectacle. Leave some fire in the kiln.