You are the wide front porch people climb onto when they need room to breathe, and behind the door a small voice keeps asking when it gets fed. Jupiter throws its doors wide at one end of your chart while the Moon waits at the other to be held. Pour out a lot and you go hollow by evening. Tend to yourself and a guilt creeps in, like you stole the bread. They take turns, you find out, not sides. Some days the house throws its doors open. Some days it shuts them and lets you eat in the quiet. The porch and the back room belong to the same house.
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