Mercury in Pisces? You sense lies before they’re spoken

Mercury in Pisces doesn’t speak to be heard. It listens first. It watches the quiet. Words don’t come fast, but feeling does. You don’t always know how to explain what you sense. Still, you know when something’s off. Before someone lies, you already feel it. Before truth is spoken, it’s already in your bones. Thought here isn’t straight—it flows like water, changing shape depending on the light.

Your mind drifts. It doesn’t follow paths—it makes them. You think in echoes, in images, in questions no one asked out loud. Logic doesn’t guide you. Emotion does. You may forget facts but remember how something felt. You may lose details but hold on to silence. You speak softly, not to hide, but because loud words feel sharp. You need time to find your language. Often, it comes through symbols. Through music. Through dreams. Through everything unspoken.

People don’t always understand. They want precision. You give mood. They ask for answers. You offer meaning. And sometimes, that disconnect hurts. You might stay quiet to avoid it. You might speak only when it’s safe. But your silence isn’t emptiness. It’s knowing. You’re not confused—you’re careful. You feel more than most, and that’s a heavy thing to carry.

You pick up on what others ignore. A pause. A shift. A glance that lasts a little too long. Your mind is like a mirror—reflecting what others hide. That can be beautiful. It can also be overwhelming. You may take on too much, feel what’s not yours, lose the line between empathy and exhaustion. Still, you return to stillness. Back to that quiet inner world no one sees.

Mercury in Pisces is here to remind us—clarity isn’t always sharp. Truth doesn’t always sound perfect. Sometimes, it arrives slowly, through a look or a line in a song. You were born to speak that kind of truth. The soft kind. The kind that sinks in and stays. You don’t need to explain everything. You only need to stay close to what feels real. Even if no one else sees it yet. Even if it comes wrapped in fog. Your words, when they finally rise, don’t just explain. They move.