Mercury in the 1st? You speak, they listen.

Mercury in the 1st moves first. Thoughts appear before the moment needs them. Words come without asking. You speak, and the world adjusts. You don’t mean to lead. But you do. Even your silence makes noise. People follow your voice without knowing why. It’s not charm. It’s velocity. You move minds because you move through yours quickly.

This isn’t about confidence. It’s reflex. Thought touches tongue too fast to question. You explain before emotion catches up. You listen to your own words like weather—fast, shifting, and already gone. Your mind lives outside your body. It arrives before you do. You speak, but sometimes it’s escape. Sometimes it’s armor.

You grew up reading the room. Maybe too early. Maybe too well. You learned to say what fit. You filled gaps so others didn’t have to. You asked questions no one expected. People thought you were bold. But really, you were trying to feel safe. Language became light. You followed it out of darkness.

But there’s a cost. You can sound whole when you feel undone. You can talk through confusion, never pausing long enough to name it. It’s easier to narrate than to feel. Easier to share than to sit still. You hold a voice that runs ahead of the rest of you. You keep pace with it, even when you’re tired.

Others come to you for clarity. They hear logic in your rhythm. They trust the way you cut through chaos. But few see how heavy it is to always hold the thread. To always translate. To always answer. You want to rest from speaking, but words still arrive. Thoughts still press against your throat. There’s grief in that, too.

Still, it’s a rare gift. You reach people others can’t. You make sense of noise. You speak meaning into what feels empty. Even when you feel lost, your voice finds a way forward. You don’t always know where it leads. But it leads. And that’s enough.