The thing you were making began as a mood and then refused to become an object, and you loved it more for refusing. You were born with Neptune in the fifth house, the house of play and the first song hummed for no audience, the house of who you fall for, so your imagination spills straight into both. Your creative work comes out atmospheric rather than literal, more weather than diagram, and your loves can feel like a dream you are still reading the next morning. There is real beauty in this and there is also a particular kind of ache: you fall for the shimmer a person throws off, and then the actual person walks in on a Tuesday and is merely human, and you feel almost betrayed. They did nothing wrong. The shimmer was partly yours. Try wanting the Tuesday version too, the one who has a cold and forgets things. Make the thing that survives daylight, the song that someone else can hear. Your imagination is real and a little uncanny. It just wants a body and a deadline so it has somewhere to land.