A blanket someone in your family made by hand, still folded the exact way they folded it, because refolding it would feel like a small betrayal. You came in with your Moon in the second house, the house of what the body owns and counts worth keeping, so your safety lives in objects you can touch. Fabric. Ledger lines that balance. The smell of the cupboard where you keep the good tea. Comfort is a currency you take seriously, and you are right to. Most people underestimate how much a steady kitchen and a paid bill quiet your whole nervous system. The catch is that the same instinct can curdle into gripping, into stockpiling what calms you and then resenting the crowded shelf it sits on. Loosen the hand a little. There is a difference between spending on what genuinely feeds you and spending to prove you are fine, and your body knows which is which the moment the bag is in your hand. Keep the things that love you back, even quietly. The rest can go.