Horoscopes 2018

We are already two months into 2018, however, the year is still young. As Writer’s Block’s astrology aficionado, I bring to you your 2018 horoscope.


The cards you throw slice through the curtains. The light falls in, leaving patterns on the floor, on the walls, the furniture, on you. You move the coffee table just an inch. It is now a masterpiece.


The soapbox beckons. Ascend it, see the world gather ‘round. Look upon the horizon, where the sun meets the trees. Deep breath in. And release.


A snowball lies at the top of the hill. With a little push, it’ll roll, slide, grow, until it is unrecognisable. Do not fear, the same snowball still exists. It has just changed.


The stage is set. The lights are bright. You do not know it yet, but it shines for you. Pushed into the deep end, you must improvise. The audience will undoubtedly stand to applaud.


The ghosts that hide underneath your bed are reaching out to you. Do not let them grab hold. Let the sun in, reach for it. This star is permanent and will lead you further than you’d thought.


The pendulum swings. The room is silent, the lack of ticking burns into your ears. But no matter. You swing into the right. Forget the burning, before you swing back to the left.


When the vase of marbles knocks over, do not be surprised when they line up behind you. Let them roll behind you, follow you. Your presence is not unnoticed.


A hurricane rages across the ocean. Winds blow across the waters. The rains pours down. It harms nothing on the sea. But beware for land.


On the platform, in the grim late-winter, your stop comes up on the announcements. It will be arriving shortly, with no expected delays.


The fog on the mirror begins to clear. The frost melts from the windshields. With a little help, you can see clearer. Do what you can to help yourself.


The call resonates deep within your veins, setting flames to your limbs. Let it consume you. The smoke clouds rise and gather, telling those around you the truth.


A minuscule mountain of dust sits in the palms of your hands. With caution, it can remain there, keeping you warm. Without caution, it will slip right through your fingers.

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October Horoscopes

The first month of the academic year has come to a close. Lie beneath the stars, feel the fall breeze creep through your sweater. I have written out October for you.


Light comes in through the slit in your curtains. It feels warm, like fingertips across your skin. A voice tingles into your senses. It’s familiar. It tells you to stand up, chin up and chest out. This is now.

A deep breath will get you far. Guide it into your sails. Adjust your oars, the clouds have covered the stars, but you don’t need them. Just remember, there is a place to land, a place to dig up your treasure.

Your voice may quiver, your voice may creak, but it will remain a trust-worthy tool. You must remember to use it.



A gust of wind blows through your hair. The air feels crisp, like the brown leaves beneath your feet. Your lungs deserve a breath of fresh air. Close your eyes. You won’t have every day to feel the sun on your face. Unclench your fists.

Now open your eyes. There is a light, a spark. Do you wish to proceed? Do you wish to reach out and touch it? Will you ignore the dark surrounding you? Feel its warmth in your palms. What is your decision? Stand where you stand. You are you.

A door shuts. A key fits just right to lock it. Will it still unlock it?



There is one bright-coloured kite in the clear blue sky. It twirls, flying gracefully, tearing spectators’ hearts apart. Another ooh lifts from the crowd. The kite need not hear it. It already knows. There is no reason to come down just yet, but it’s nice to know that a sea of hands await to catch you.

In the dark, you stumble. A room full of books, furniture, photos. It’s all there. The lights have been turned off. Take your time. Stumble. Feel your way around the room until you recognize it. One day, you will find the light switch. Fear not, the dark can be comfortable too.

Don’t forget to check the back of your tests. There might be some more questions.



The fireplace cracks with heat. The blanket on the couch is still warm, remembering the taste of you. It mourns your loss, crying out as you replace it with a faux-fur coat. Do not let it call you back. There are other blankets to be wrapped in.

Submerge yourself in rose-water. Let it fill your ears, drowning out the noise of the running refrigerator, the knocking radiator, the spoiled cat’s meow. Have you remembered to let your mind rest its tired legs?

Don’t let your hands burn on a hot potato. Pass it on to the next victim.



A book that remains closed cannot be read. A cover must be lifted, no matter how heavy, to reveal a reality. Let the ink across the page settle deeply, black on white, an effort to ignore the noise. Let the words be seen, let the thoughts flow free from one mind to another. There is something to be pulled out of these pages.

You float on rough waters. Let yourself be immersed, do not be afraid to drown. Let uncertainty envelop you. Be kind to it: it may be gentler than you think. It will hold you, carry you through the dark. You must let it.

The smell of apple pie wafts up around you. Feel at home here.



The hand that holds is also the hand that lets go. Come and go as you please. The door remains unlocked. The fireplace is lit, the oven bakes steadily. It awaits you; there is no curfew. It will stand, no matter how long it takes you to get there.

Your orchard flourishes, bountiful apples hang on every tree. The empty baskets lie at your feet, the ladder is propped up against the first tree. If you forget, they will fall and eventually rot. The sun is on your side, remember that.

Fasten your parachute before you let the wind carry you.



One day soon, you will run out of paper to write your notes on. On that day, you must read what you have written. Do it where you feel warm, do it when you shine. There is nothing to fear except your own handwriting.

Your skin—where you have been gripping yourself—has turned pale. Let the blood flow where it must. Let yourself go. You don’t always need to hold yourself together. Let yourself be seen. Let yourself be heard.

When you walk across the sand, do not look back at the footprints you leave behind.



In your final attempt to get your car to start, it does. The familiar grumble of your car coming to life rises around you. You let go of the key, now safely in the ignition. A map has unfolded before you, a tangle of streets wait to deliver you.

The fog on your windows lifts as you drive through the dimly lit streets. You haven’t bothered to turn on your GPS. Leave it. Let yourself drive as you please, where you please, when you please. Do not tie yourself down to the left turn in 500 meters.

Let the music coming from your stereo waft around you. Don’t forget to turn on your headlights.



Do not fret when the wallpaper begins to peel off, there will always be something new. Take your time to pick out the new, take your time to hang it all up. There is no rush. The walls will not run away from you.

Voices travel down the hall. They are familiar, they are kind. There is no reason to hide. Let your voice travel back, they will embrace it with warmth.

Fog covers your windows. It is your choice whether or not you wish to see through them.


In order to touch the bottom of the lake, you must dive in headfirst. Let the warm water embrace you, let the sunlight reflect on the droplets on your skin. Reach the bottom. Return to the surface. Float when it feels right.

Lines you have written across a napkin linger in your mind. They tiptoe around your thoughts, get comfortable amongst your memories. They’re on the tip of your tongue. But they feel more comfortable in your own head.

The mirror in your bathroom may need cleaning.



You’ve trekked far and wide, crossing into unknown territory. On your own, under the sun, the clouds, the moon. You have seen, but more importantly you have been. Collapse at your desk when you get home; it will take a lot of time to draw out the maps.

A crowd, yelling out, push a single person into the throne room. A golden crown awaits. There is a moment of contemplation. The person holds a crown made of hay. Let your fingers explore the cold edges of the gold. This is when the moment ends, and the now begins.

A single spark can start a forest fire. Watch where you land.



Light breaks through the waves, casting a glow across the ocean floor. Down in the depths you’ve laid, but the weight that holds you down will lift. Break the surface, feel the wind on your face. The droplets will remind you of where you’ve been.

You walk through the bustling city, bundled in your scarf, your coat, hands deep in your pockets to keep warm. When you step inside you may be tempted to stay bundled up, but your skin longs to breathe. Do you remember what your own skin looks like?

A voice carries across the room. Let yours travel back.

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Horoscopes 2017


Art by Ana Flores

A single paragraph to sum up 2017.


Tablecloths, towels, sheets line the walls. They cover every mirror and reflective surface. Your hand itches — for what? Do you miss seeing yourself? It won’t take much to tear all those obstacles down. What will you do when you see what has been hidden from you? You are the only person that can do this. When was the last time you felt the strength to hold yourself up?


A box sits by your door when you get home. When you open it, you find rolls and rolls of wallpaper inside. The instructions tell you that the best way to make the wallpaper last is if it dries in the dark. You cover all your windows with anything you can find; foil, newspaper, bedsheets. In the dark you put it all up, exactly the way you want it. No one else knows why your house is shut off from the world, but that doesn’t matter. You’re the only one that needs to know.


You stand in a house of mirrors. In the corner of the room there’s a sign that says “the door will only open to the true you”. You’re surrounded by yourself, but instead of distorted reflections, the mirrors show different versions of you. How are you supposed to choose? You take your time in front of each mirror, and you get to the same conclusion every time: “this is me”. You stand in the middle of the room. The only answer you can give to the air around you is that all of these mirrors show the true you. A trapdoor opens beneath you.


Before you stands a giant. It’s not alive, and it never has been. Strings dangle from several places. Someone tells you that it’s you that’s supposed to operate this puppet. The strings are put in your hands. Are you up to the task to become the puppeteer? Your strings have been cut loose, and now it’s your turn. What will you do? If you’re not careful, this giant might overpower you, turning you back into a marionette. Don’t you dare forget that the strings are in your own hands.


The theatre bustles, the crowd is jittering with excitement. The room lights have not yet dimmed, the spotlight has not yet been lit. You sit behind the controls, ready to flick the switch when it’s queued. “When did you end up back here?” someone asks you. “You don’t need any spotlights, your own light can warm anyone’s heart.” Do you remember now when you weren’t too busy shining light on someone else, that you could actually shine yourself?


The mailman came by, your mailbox is overflowing with postcards and Christmas cards. You drop the stack on your kitchen counter, promising yourself you’ll get back to it as soon as possible. You stop yourself mid-promise. “Not today,” you say. You’ve had this nagging feeling for a while now, and you refuse to let yourself linger, procrastinate. You stand by your kitchen counter, reading every best wish, every happy new year, making notes of who to thank for what.


On a dark cold winter morning, you decide it’s time for change. You push your desk across the room, you move your closet a little bit to the right, you air out your curtains. You’re ready to move your bed, but first, you’ve got to pull out everything from under it. Amongst a few forgotten things, a suitcase, and your old tent, you find a box you can’t remember ever putting there. The box holds everything you didn’t even know you were longing for. Take your time to savour it. It’s all yours now, and you can choose what to do with it all.


A box of old photos. This is your current self-appointed task. You’ve bought the right type of tape and a blank photo album. Before you start taping and writing down dates, you need to get the photos in order. You go through each and every picture, trying to decipher when and where it was taken. Can you remember it all? Every moment captured has lead to this present moment. What does this mean for you? What does this mean to you?


You can barely see the sky above you. You are surrounded by tall bushes, but only on three sides. You’re in a maze. You don’t know where you’ll end up but you know that you have to go. You take turn after turn, always seemingly a correct one, since you haven’t had to turn back once. But just as you think that, you encounter a dead end. You curse and mutter, angry at having to turn back. Before you do, you hear loud steps. The earth beneath you shakes, the bushes that block your path quiver at the sound of growls. You remain hidden and the noise subsides as the beast moves on.


In your hands you hold a card. It’s like one of those that is found in old school library books, with the names of the people who checked it out. But this  is not from a library book. The title at the top says KARMA. It’s a list of the good that you will do and the bad you will receive. Knowing this, what will you do? Is it time to pay back your debts? Or will you choose to do the opposite of what you receive?


You’ve spent hours and hours, days after days, for months, trying to find the right table. You’ve gone to Ikea, to antique stores, to garage sales. And yet you’ve found nothing. Your search continues, your heart becomes frustrated, but you keep yourself optimistic. Your friends begin to question you, your mother begins to worry. You tell them there is nothing wrong with trying to find a perfect table. After all, a house of cards can only stand on a good foundation.


You find yourself trying to read your old journals, but they seem to be in a language you no longer remember. You can now try to painstakingly decipher the language, spending hours and hours trying to remember the way you felt and what you thought in the past. But remember, there is nothing wrong with asking for help. And perhaps, after all this time, is it even worth relearning that language of the past?



December horoscopes


Oh geez.

I guess you’re looking for the monthly horoscopes we provide here at Writer’s Block. Sadly, there is not much to be read about your future other than the immediate one you’re trying to bridle right now.

I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the Master astronomer/star-seer can’t be present today. She is currently occupied spearheading a crusade against the false imputations of the so-called thirteenth zodiac sign that has people all riled up these days. She packed her diviner’s toolkit (telescope, star map, crystal ball and a copy of Gypsy Accent Daily) and left. When I asked her what to do about the horoscopes she muttered something along the lines of “The final reckoning is at hand! Those astronomers have received their last horoscopes! The stars spell blood for astronomy!”

I’m just guessing, though. I couldn’t her hear through all the gun-cocking and whatnot. Point is, you’ll have to make due with me this month. Taro, the diviner’s apprentice.

Please, don’t leave yet. I’m still learning, I know, but I’ll try my darn best to bring you your accurate horoscopes. The cosmic observatory is filled with dusty books, papers, dice and other coin-toss substitutes. The answers you seek for are right here, I just gotta find ‘em, is all.

Oh, geez. Bear with me on this one. Some of this may be translated from Hungarian. Or Moldovan. Or whatever these moon runes over here mean.

Here goes nothing:



The air outside gets colder, but the walls of your house will get warmer. Expect mice.

Whatever happened to those scribbles at the back of your brain? Did you crumple them up, toss them around and leave the ideas incased by your forgetfulness? Pick one up, any of them. Try to unpack what’s inside, and find in its contents a new home. Share it with the world—It’s the season, after all.

Go through your bookshelves. Not the crisp one, but the musty one (AN: The original text may have two meanings, as musty and childhood are apparently interchangeable in Old-Albanian. Figures). Delve into the books of your past, and carefully scan the pages for dried leaves. Touch them, inspect them. Trace their tips back to their stems, and tell the road’s story. It’s still worth telling.


I can smell your financial discontent from here. It’s like your breath: Chocolate and salt. Shreds of aluminum foil. Orange wrappers. Loneliness. The sickness you feel is not your fault, but your duty. Be sure not to pick up that phone when it calls you again.

Spend your energy on adventure, spend your money on nothing. You will encounter an Indiana Jones-y, flimsy rope bridge on your way. You may not be Indy, but you’ll cross it nicely. Remember that easy does it in a balancing act.

However sturdy your footing might be, remember that the floor is covered in corks, cans and bottle caps. Tip-toe, or you might slip.


You’re Batman.

But for goodness’ sake, dress like a normal human being. The pants go over your underwear, and don’t believe people who tell you they didn’t notice.

Each morning will find you with the weight of volition slung around your neck. Luckily, the yoke is bipartite and fueled by dynamicity. Grab your Robin by the collar and throw him in your Batmobile. You’re on a mission.

There’s violence in your house, so be sure to turn that red into a hue of passion. Or is that spaghetti sauce? Anyway—oh geez this won’t get out, will it?—tired, blue winds waft through your room, and they’re pining for a change. Allow yourself to ride its current, and you will decide which sea you will end up in. The rain will take you home, slowly, but unscathed.

You’re Batman, after all.


There’s a hole in your kitchen where your culinary excellence used to be. Don’t worry, it’s still your shoe size. Even better, there’s room for growth. Try to imagine the dishes you’ve created, and put them on a scale. Fill up the other side with the dishes you haven’t made. Now effectuate a balance.

A remembrance fills up your cup. Dry soil and seeds in your windowsill, a world of potential unreached. Spend your imagination on reentering this plane, and it might not yet be too late. Ashes and soil may look alike, yet they indicate very different elements. The ash came from fire, with its ignited nicotine and tar residue. The soil came from the earth, dry and hard, a ground of symbiotic workings between burials and breeding. Together, they are lives unlived, and thoughts unthought. Feed the earth with your ashes, and the world will be greener when you wake.


Consider the power of the mistletoe. Fueled by promiscuity, colored by the lush green of hopeful winters, and unapologetic like my mother smashing the door in my face when I come home for the holidays without a grandchild again. Oh, well.

You harness the obtuse powers of this unkind leaf. One side warms, and the other chills. Keep your eye on it, or it might just turn on you. You know, like being disinherited by papa for not taking on his clown’s mantle in the circus, even though you were never meant for a role such as that because your severe lactose intolerance does not go well with a full-time profession which involves a lot of cream pies to the face, especially not when—

…Err, wrong book. My apologies. I did think my diary sounded familiar. Anyway, your real horoscope actually does read something about love. It’s all a bit hazy, and quite a hassle to translate. There’s not much text left in this box, either.

So, eh, just be careful around love. And stuff. Throw away your smartphone or something. Solves about 90% of all love problems.


The air hangs thick with peril. Boarding your windows won’t do, nor will nailing shut your doors do you any good. You can hole up beneath the covers of your bed, but the monster will find you regardless. It will tear the sheets from underneath you, and drag you into its fiery maw, hell’s fitful flames licking at the soles of your feet while it laughs its guttural, croaking, apologetic and desperate laugh.

Your ex is coming for you.

You pull up your defenses on every social media page you own, and block everything. As you put away your phone, exhausted, it slips from the table and strikes a few strings of the guitar that was lying there. A perfect harmony for an E minor. Remain vigilant, for the sad chord you play might attract a more welcome passer-by. One that might not have been too cuddly with your sister once.

…Hold on, this one has to be my diary. I thought I picked the right one for sure this time—err, nope. This is definitely my sign. Yikes.


You’ve been staring at a blank canvas for a while now. Either untouched, or so unfinished that you might as well call it blank—it doesn’t matter. The paint in the pot has run dry. Tear your eyes from the canvas, and look outside. A different palette of white shows the unseen perspective, the missing ingredient. And as a natural well which never truly runs dry, there is still life water underneath the skin of dried-up residue. You’ll have to delve through the layer to get to the treasure. But in this case, what costs energy, will repay itself with energy. (AN: and hey, if you can make a nice painting out of it, or something, you might just sell it for some serious moolah. It’s not the end-all be-all goal, I know—but wouldn’t it be nice?)

Remember that the comfort of your house is fueled by the love you allow in. When someone knocks on the door, feel free to let them in. But keep the door open for too long and your plants might shrivel, the cat might flee, and your plumbing might freeze. But you won’t be frightened by that. Your imagination will allow you to carry your bed with you, wherever you go. Just make sure that you’re not in it alone. (AN: take that as you will)


The conclusion has to be drawn that your leash is too long. Your parents, caretakers, lovers—they’re being dragged along as you’re running around the block. But what for? Surely, it’s not because you want to see what’s around the corner that badly. The scenery doesn’t get taken in just like that; it allows itself to be taken in at a very slow, very natural (AN: overly dramatic) tempo. No matter how fast you’ll go, the world won’t slow down, and the leash will eventually yank you back. Before you get to that point, make sure that you know the colors of your neighborhood by heart. You’ll need them.

The opposite, however, is also quite true. Once you slow down too much, take in too much of that scenery, the extending leash will go click and you’ll be the one that’s being dragged along. The best place to walk is near the one whose holding that leash for you.

Look for your leash-carriers, stick close to them, and most importantly, remember to return the favor to them.


Green-felted tables pave your way. You walk bow-legged, a mobile Atlas under the weight of your winnings. The smell of your favorite liquor pulls at your nose, and leads you from the path. Momentarily distracted, you sit yourself down at the table with the liquor smell. Your hand reaches for the dice, and casts them down with the spin that has won you so many games. But where the dice land, the green felt turns out to be more leathery, more slithery, and definitely more moving than you think it ought to be. Suddenly, you realize that tables don’t usually move, and that liquor doesn’t usually smell. You want to get up, but the felt-table path has disappeared. The only things left are a hissing noise behind your ears, and two sharp snake eyes in front of you.

You wake up at home with a bitter taste in your mouth. A look in the mirror reveals that your locks aren’t golden anymore, and your teeth not to be pearls. At least the weight has completely evaporated from your shoulders, even if it wasn’t the kind of weight you actually wanted to lose. On that note, you could work on that, too. (AN: hate the universe, not me)


There are holes in your vision, holes in your teeth, holes in the knees of your jeans. You’ve worn down your bones, ground to dust what should have kept you up. Trying as you might, you bounce and tumble your way through the early winter days, their unkindness tinging your skin with icy kisses. Then, through the haze, a warm glow sings to you like a kind-hearted siren. You reach the island and strand upon its rocks which are unlike any other you’ve ever felt.

Soft, warm, huggable, the island is a bed—your bed. It embraces you. But through the fog, distant lights travel over the horizon. The lighthouses of the world are looking for you. But don’t be mistaken, they are the true sirens. Devour you and rend you to bits they will—no matter the amount of wax you put in your ears.

You are caught at the crossroads, doubting. Which one is the real siren, the bed, or the world? The latter you’ve tried, and see where it has gotten you. You don’t have to trust the bed, its softness, its unwilling to release, but what you could do is give it a shot.

The lighthouses will still be there when you wake.


So, those previous ones went quite well! Not too many hiccups. Master would be proud. I hope. Now, let’s see for the next one…

…Oh, my. Quite the classic over here, we have. You’re in luck, Aquarius! My orb reads the following:

You will meet a tall, dark stranger.

Oh, that’s juicy! So what else does it say?

…That’s it? The big kahuna? Talk about an anticlimax—this could hardly be considered a useful horoscope. Master wouldn’t put up with this, and neither will I. Time to roll up the sleeves on this one.

What you don’t know is that I have a visual representation of said “tall, dark stranger”, shown to me through the glass orb. I couldn’t tell you in words. What I see could hardly be translated from the information contained in the galactic ley lines. Only through the use of advanced technology can I show you the picture in my mind’s eye. Now, the stars shall guide my hand over a digital drawing board. Even though I will be blindfolded (wouldn’t want those pesky senses getting in the way) the picture you see here is completely accurate.



Now, that you can work with. In case you might know this particular person, be kind and guide him toward your nearest Aquarius. You will be much appreciated, I’m sure.


You vault over the last hurdle and sprint for the finish line. In the moment you land, the world slows down, and you get a rare chance to look around as if nothing would be affected by it. The other contestants are nowhere near as close as you had pictured them to be. If you wouldn’t know any better, you’d say that you were the only one occupying a lane, the other seven completely empty. Somewhere in the back your adversaries might still be, but then again, they might not be.

In your mind hangs a limestone of a question which slowly begins to drip. Who were those people? Were they even my adversaries in the first place? Have I outrun them, or am I the last one left on the track? Why are the hurdles scattered so unevenly? Which ones did I jump? Which ones did I miss?

As the thoughts drip on, the world recovers its original tempo. The finish line comes closer. You can smell the fireworks, feel their blows against your eardrums. The feeling is frightening, but happy. The answers might not all lie beyond that finish line, but a few of them might. Maybe you’re just lucky like that.

And with that, this month’s batch of horoscopes comes to a solemn conclusion. And just in time—I think I can hear Master’s footsteps coming up the stairs, now! Wait, does that mean astrology wins? Astronomy has been defeated?

If so, whoopee! I’m getting solid food tonight! …maybe.

In any case, until we meet again!


November Horoscopes


The clock has changed, the days continue to shorten, the planets have shifted once again.


Please don’t look at me like that. The sunlight from your eyes blinds me, but don’t let that stop you.

The rug unfurls, a cloud of dust rises into the air. An envelope slides across the floor. It’s been there so long, the corners are all bent out of shape. It holds all that you’ve been hoping for.

Rain patters against your windows. The heat and wind have been hiding you. The drops trickle down the glass, taking with it all the dirt that’s been collected. You can now see that the last flower of the season is wilting. You tell yourself it’s time to pull out all those limp plants and invest in some new bulbs.



Know that when your hand reaches out to mine, I will hold onto it. I don’t mind walking down your route with you. There will be something to find there, whether you’re looking for it or not.

Don’t be afraid when that pen turns into a microphone. The sounds that fill the room will not frighten anyone. You won’t be drowned out by the November storms.

Don’t let this slide anymore; give into the temptation of doing double-takes.

Pick up those shards. Don’t hide them in a box under your bed like you’re used to. I’ve got glue in a drawer and a few free hours to spend with you.



The bottom of your bag gives out. Everything you were carrying is now spread all over the floor. Now you have to make a decision of what to bring back home with you. After all, you only have two hands.

The strings of your heart loosen. It slips down your sleeve, where it rests comfortably between your wrist and the fabric of your sweater. Don’t worry about it: it’s strong enough to stay there until it’s ready to tighten up again.

You can hear the train rolling into the stations as you rush up the stairs. You’re worried that you won’t make it. The doors open. You can make a choice now: take a single leap, trusting that the doors will remain open, or choose to wait for the next train.



A warmth washes over your skin. Ask yourself, is this warmth coming from the fireplace? Or is your blood warming up to you?

Coffee spills across your address book and agenda. The ink mingles with the coffee, bleeding into the dates to come and names you barely remember. Make a mental note to buy new organisers.

Don’t panic when something slips from between your fingers. The Earth will catch it and hold onto it until you’re ready to pick it up again. Do not think it has forsaken you. But remember, carry only as much as your arms allow.



The kettle whistles. A mug waits, containing honey and tea, ready for boiling water. You’ve already covered your couch with your favourite blanket. You can hear the TV whispering the lines of your favourite show. You don’t feel guilty, nor should you.

The mist is clearing up outside. You can see down to the other end of your street now. Don’t be afraid to walk there, you might find what you’re looking for.

There are only few things that get built in a day. The world can wait for you this time. Ease up on that gas-pedal before you’re pulled over. A few minutes late is fine by me.



Don’t be shy. Let the energy flow out of you. Let your legs sway you across the room. But don’t forget to tie the laces on your dancing shoes. You can only take so many steps until you fall. When your laces get stuck in the escalator, don’t hesitate to cut them. You won’t need them forever.

When you knock that vase off its pedestal, consider sweeping it up and throwing it out. Does it really mean so much to you?

Shut the window when it begins to rain. Pull out the candles when it begins to storm. When the power shuts off, don’t take it personally.



The wind ceases to blow. The sails hang limp. Let the anchor fall to the depths and take the time to lie in the sun. The world continues to revolve at 66.000 miles an hour, but to you everything is still.

The paint on the wall in the kitchen flakes. How many years has it been since you’ve painted? Peel away that thin layer; create an opportunity for yourself to change.

A pile of papers that was stacked on your desk scatters as you open a window. When you pick the papers up, you find an envelope gifted to you on your birthday. Did you forget? Or were you saving it? It doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is that it’s here now.



When was the last time you locked your front door? Did you stuff those holes in the walls? If you’re not careful, you’ll have mice dancing through the house.

And that spare key you’ve been holding on to. Isn’t it time to keep that key somewhere that isn’t behind a locked door?

Fall into a pool of warm water. Let it be the embrace you’ve been waiting for. Let yourself float, even if just for a moment. The water seeps into your ears, blurring the sounds around you. Do you mind being alone? Do you need more time to think?



The zipper on your bag, you know, the one that’s been getting stuck for so long, finally budges. It’s a small victory, but don’t let that stop you from celebrating. Take the time to get the more expensive treat that you’ve been craving.

The shards of the mirror have been gathering dust for far too long. Take it upon yourself to clean it up. You don’t need any more cuts. Besides, a whole mirror is clearer than a shattered one.

I know you’re tired, but there will be tingles under your skin again. Your fingers will fumble and your feet will fidget. Let it wash over you.



There will come a time where the only hand that can feed is yours. There will be a choice you will have to make. Can I trust you to make the right decision?

The cryptic letters you’ve been receiving have finally included a code. It won’t take long for you to decode them now. When you write your reply, let your words speak for you.

The rain pours outside. Your umbrella is torn, your raincoat is nowhere to be found. When was the last time you answered ‘no’ to ‘is it really worth it to leave the house today’?



All the tips of your pencils have dulled. A sharpener stares you down. When you think of the future, what do you see? How will you get there? The pencil shavings won’t hurt you, don’t let them intimidate you.

The water around you settles. A perfect mirror surrounds you. Close your eyes. What does the reflection show? Be gentle. Don’t break that perfect mirror.

Why have you been walking across a tightrope? Don’t you know it’s much easier to walk over solid ground? Come, I’ll guide you.

Don’t let your sighs blow out all the candles you have so carefully lit.



Your favourite boots have been hiding in the back of your closet since spring bloomed earlier in the year. The cold, grey weather is begging for its reappearance. Don’t fret about how comfortable they will be; like always, they will fit like a glove.

You have tossed and you have turned and you will continue to do so. But do so knowing that one day, you will find a way to get through the night unscathed.

A light goes on in your head. Did you forget it was there? Did you think the light bulb had burned out? Take a deep breath: you are still here.




October has begun, the planets have shifted, the sun is starting to hide behind the clouds again.


A flood brings together a fork in a river that was created many moons ago. Two streams, running parallel for miles, cease to exist. It all comes back again.

Wipe the dirt off your glasses. Pop out the glass. Your eyes have changed, this old prescription is only a blur.

The coat you hid in your closet for the warmer months is slung over the back of a dining room chair. Later, when you put it on for the first time, you will find a note in the pocket. Tears will flow from your eyes when you read it. It’s waited for you a long time, but it seems you have changed too much for it.



A loud crash comes from the living room. It seems as if the cat has finally knocked it over. You’ve been telling yourself it would be safer in the corner of the room, but you’ve been putting it off. You cancel your plans, you’ve got rearranging to do.

The phone rings. It’s the universe speaking. “It’s time to give yourself a break.”

The plot of the book you’re reading is in knots. It’s okay to ask me if you don’t understand. You’ll see that I don’t mind spending time with you. You’ll see that you are not alone. It only takes a question.



You can stand in the sun while it’s raining, you just need to figure out how. And do not care for those who do not want to share their umbrella or lemonade with you. There is no room for that in this photo.

The hands you hold, they must be soft and warm. Do not fret; they will find their way to you. It’s time to walk the paths you have avoided for so long. The brightly coloured leaves will envelop you in gentle kisses. The breeze will bring them all to you.

You have finally found the motivation to clear out the rot that sits in the bottom drawer of your fridge. You promise yourself to never let it come back again.



Don’t feel bad about burrowing a nest, this is the time to do it. Surround yourself with warmth; there will only be so much of it during the coming cold. Don’t feel ashamed of the tea you have brewing. Wrap your cold hands around your mug and breathe in the steam.

Pull up your turtle-neck. Carry home on your back. Do not hide out only out of fear of the world; it’s carrying birthday candles and balloons behind its back for you.

The last of this years’ flowers will bloom. When you see them, you will think of someone, and I will think of you.



A squirrel darts across the road on your way home. You wonder: where is it going? You wonder: where am I going? And who is going with me?

A whirlwind of butterflies storm through your head. Don’t you think it’s time to let them out? Open your mouth and let them surround those around you. They will brush past skin, let the hair on the back of necks come on edge.

Take only what you can carry, and take it far. Mind you: you can only do so much.

Put out a call. You do not need to go alone.



A silence falls over your home. You are in the eye of the hurricane, a hurricane that falls apart around you. It ceases fire; the chaos settles.

You roll up your sleeves. You begin to move the debris that has surrounded your house and to clear a path through the street. You think of all the things you can build with all this scattered material.

It seems the wind has knocked your heart out of your chest. It’s okay, I’ll help you find it. I will be gentle and bring it back to you in one piece.

The static on the radio clears up. The sun is shining on the other side of town again.



The fog is clearing up. Ahead, a light flashes. A voice calls out to you. Once again, your blood begins to flow warmly. The tide has turned, the wind has fallen. Your ears pop. The sun has come up again.

The notebook you have been writing in is on its last page. You write the date at the bottom and hide it on the highest shelf. A fresh new page awaits you. It seems brighter than the last one was.

The match you held only a minute ago has burned, only a small tip remaining unburnt. There was no reason to burn past words.



A to-do list falls out of your pocket. The list wraps around itself five times over. The calm before the storm will only last so long.

A door slams shut. Somewhere else in the house a doorway collapses. All the curtain rods in your house lie on the floor. You have nowhere to hide anymore.

You swish your feet back and forth in a creek. The water is so cold, but it’s so soothing. You are torn between serenity and pain. How do you compromise?

Goosebumps have held your skin in a death grip. Can you remember what it was like without them? Do not fret. They will settle and you will fall into your skin once more.



Your lungs feel constricted. Your blood demands more blood. Have you thought of taking deeper breaths?

While you are sitting by your desk, the phone rings. The tension falls out of your fingers and you feel lighter.

There’s something hiding in your eyes and it gives you away. Before you know it, it falls out of your mouth. It gets carried off in the wind, but I’ve already seen it. And I will tell you that there is nothing wrong with it. Please take me at my word. There are more things waiting to be dealt with before you can release them.



A ladder is standing in your backyard. It does not go anywhere, except up.

Your shins hurt. It’s a pain you haven’t had since you were a kid. You wonder why it has come back. You think: am I not done growing?

The gas tank in your car is full. A playlist you made ages ago is in the glove compartment. When you tell me you have an overwhelming urge to go, I’ll ask you go where? And this is when you take the keys and leave. You know this is for yourself and no one else. You leave your cellphone on the kitchen counter.



The airport lost your bag. A month-long stint in a foreign country with only your carry-on. A shiver crawls down your spine. You feel so much lighter.

The cat chases something across the room. It lands at your feet. When you reach down to grab it and send it off again, you do a double take. You haven’t seen this in years and now you remember how you never came around to dealing with it.

Please speak to me, before you cannot anymore. I have something to say, and you know it will mean more than you initially thought it did. It will make every last seed of the season bloom.



You’ve let yourself revolve around everyone else but you. You crave the rays of light on your skin, not the other way around. Be careful; you can still get burned.

Your boots are standing in the hallway. The dried mud on it has been there for months. Your feet ache with anticipation. Don’t think twice: slip on those thick socks and go.

When you get home, the curtains are still wide open. The warm sunlight falls into your home at an angle you’ve never seen before. You pick up the phone. This is the type of warmth you will never forget to share.


September horoscope


It’s past the half-way point of September, but here is your September horoscope anyway.


Once upon a time, you were buried. You held on to your own hand, the only familiar thing you could find in the choking air. You must gently caress your hand with your thumb. No one knows how you dug yourself out. There is no trace of dirt under your fingernails.

Remember when you fell from the high beam? You fell to your knees. Did you ever try it again? You’ll stand up straight this time.

I loved you once, an anchor tied to my ankle. My fingertips could break the surface. And one day, I could breathe again.

When did you decide you had to be like this? You were just a child, the glass vase was destined to slip between your gentle fingers. It is no longer your fault.

It’s time you embark on a long journey; a train to nowhere awaits. This time around, you will run for your train, only to watch the doors shut in front of you. A whistle blows. A gust of wind brushes your face.

You see a face in the rushing crowd. It is the face of someone who is now a stranger.



As a kid, you lit up the school play as the sun. A ball of chicken wire and papier-mâché, painted bright yellow, a string of battery-powered fairy lights lighting you up. You sang a song that everyone liked.

You don’t remember that. All you remember is your teacher ripping up the costume at the end of the show. ‘We don’t need this anymore.’

Now, you find yourself fighting the urge to try to recreate that ball of brightness.

An ember in your heart will ignite and you must use it to light a fire. Please, I beg you, do not burn yourself. Be wary of those who carry gasoline instead of lighter fluid.

You once wanted to spend your entire life by the same shore, but now the time has come. I am here to show you new shores. My hand will not be out for long, please trust me, it will be beautiful.



Hold your tea closer. Wrap that blanket closer. Are you home? Why are you so tense?

You’ve organised a deck of cards, but they’ve fallen to the floor. It won’t be the same.

Your head is no longer filled with the beliefs of your parents. They are now an entity of their own, you are not a satellite anymore. Hold yourself closer.

Another’s heart beats faster in your hands. No, you do not need to adjust to them. Remember; your heart needs you more. Do you remember? You’ve seen this trouble before. It is a tightrope you will be able to walk over.

Do not fret; the cosmos awaits you.



Tides have washed away your sandcastles. All that’s left now is a bare landscape. A wave hands you a bottle. There’s a note inside. You cannot open the its vessel, so you must break it.

Your home is an empty house. A raven has been using it for storage. Please put that back on the shelf, it clashes with the rug.

Your voice echoes louder than before. You don’t need furniture, not if it makes you seem smaller. You don’t need a home that holds you down.

I know your legs hurt. I know that they are scarred from your youth. I can only tell you that this is growing pain. Also, your mother called this morning, will you get back to her soon?

It might be over, but the sky has cleared up. Can you feel that? Can you breathe more easily? You can climb higher now.




One tin-can-on-a-string after another. You made them, never understanding why they never worked. You spent hours in your bedroom, attaching twine to the cans you made your mother save for you. You could’ve spent that time fixing everything else.

You once bought rose-coloured glasses, hoping it would work just like the expression. They fell to the floor and shattered, and you were left with nothing but your own vision.

In the middle of writing this letter, you pause. Is this really necessary? Where will this end?

The seeds you planted in the spring, they bear their fruit to you. It’s the same as years ago, when your mother still planted seeds in spring.

On a train, you ask yourself: is this really where I want to be? An unlit candle sits on your desk, waiting for you to come home.



During the 8th grade talent show, you refused to take a bow after your performance. The lights shift. Your hand rises, shielding your blinded eyes. This time, you know you will take a bow.

A voice murmurs in your head; you follow its advice. The lemonade is spiked today.

A spark flies. In your hand you hold lighter fluid. In your head you hold a choice.

A package of freshly printed photos gathers dust. You didn’t expect your last photo-album to only have one page left. Next to the printed photos lies your GPS. Abandoned for so long, you go out to buy new batteries.

Let me help you. Do not let this fall behind the couch. You will never see it again that way. Please, now is the time to make things work.



A cut on each leg; one stitched up, one oozing pus. The doctor will pull those stitches out and cleanse you of infection. Do not fight this.

The mirror you used to look in now stands warped and dusty. No matter how many times you wipe it down, the reflection never fits. One day, it will fall and shatter; this will be the day a new mirror and a right image come into your home.

When you were young, summer meant swimming in rivers. All your friends met at the same place. You swam up river to meet them, but by the time you got there, you were too tired to play.

On moving day, a heavy box of somethings and nothings sits in the empty living room. You tell yourself you won’t need this where you’re going.

You can let go of my hand now, you can stand on your own.



Remember when you shoved a cheese sandwich in each pocket, a juice box in your coat, packed your favourite toys up in a little suitcase, and left the house without telling anyone? Do you even remember why you did that? How long did it take you to go back home?

Down by the water, right by the cliff, someone tied a rope swing to an overhanging tree. You were the best at always landing the furthest. ‘It’s all in the timing,’ you’d say.

Please don’t hold the knife out to me blade first.

This morning you changed the sheets. Your bed is all made up. You won’t find me there, but that is no longer a problem.



A book falls from your shelf. It’s a journal you wrote in for many moons. Your hands make the decision that your eyes will see the words you wrote. Your brain will process them and bring up every single memory. You will be okay.

A pile of cardboard sits by your front door. A pile of bolts and screws lie next to different shapes and sizes of wood in your empty living room. You’ve already called a friend to help you put together your Ikea furniture. The old things you had were falling apart.

Your childhood bedroom exists no longer. You grew too quickly and it changed too slowly. Your mother is on the phone with you. ‘What colour should I paint the walls?’ You ask her if she can get you a bigger bed.




The sheen of dust covering the collection of travel guides and maps — why is it there? Don’t you think it’s time to wipe them down?

The words you use are sharp. You know how to make a beautiful cut-out, but your hands can slip and cut through bone.

The day you were on your way to pick up your first pair of glasses, do you remember what you said? ‘I wonder what the world will look like.’ Hold on to that feeling, there’s still so much more to come.

There will come a day when those glasses will no longer give you clear sight. There will come a day when it will fall apart and become crooked. It is okay to let go.

There are still some leftovers in the fridge at home. It’s time to watch that season finale you’ve been putting off.



The books you’ve read are piled up on your desk, the books you haven’t gather dust. There is a time and place to change, and that is always and everywhere.

A jar in your childhood bedroom holds pennies and cents. It always has. I know you’ve dipped into that to buy candy for you and your friends, but that was not necessary; they already had their own.

Now, a bank account under your name holds nothing. It is waiting for a jar to empty out.

The phone is ringing. It’s an unknown number. This time, you’ll pick up and speak.

That pot that got knocked over last week, you need to clean up the mess. Here, let me help you. You can plant those seeds you’ve had for so long now.



Once, you imagined a long drive by yourself. You wanted to cross borders and see the world — know that the more eyes you have, the more you will see.

Slide your arms across every shelf and table. Your house needs you more than ever. Do not stray from here to feel comfortable, instead make this place all your own. You do not need a different roof over your head just yet.

Now that the moon shines, I can see you. Can you see me? What else is there? Do not rush into the arms of that angel there, I do believe it is merely a statue.

That heart you hold in your hand, whose is it? Do you see the name printed on the bottom? It is yours, to use and give away as you wish. Please be gentle.