Zodiac Depths

Your mouth goes dry when you avoid what you owe. You want respect, but you ration honesty like winter stores. You manage budgets better than feelings, but feelings collect interest. The hard talk won’t kill you; the rehearsed dread will. Drink water. Let it chill the heat of your certainty, loosen the jaw, steady the hands. Hydrate, then say the line you’ve delayed for weeks.

Water is a contract with your body: presence over panic. It cues breath, lengthens sentences, dissolves the grit in your tone. You handle mountains; a glass steadies a hill. Earth cracks without water. Drink, wait ten breaths, then walk in. Let clarity be literal. Let your words travel on a current, not sparks. Replace dryness with pace.