When your ex knows your chart… and your weaknesses.

They knew your chart. Your patterns. Your fears. You trusted them with all of it. At first, it felt like love. They saw you deeply. Understood what others couldn’t. You called it connection. Cosmic, maybe. It felt safe. Like home.

But when it ended, something changed. That knowledge became heavy. Intimate things turned into targets. They remembered your Moon. Your wounds. The way you shut down. And now, they used it. Not loudly. Quietly. Sharply.

You heard it in their tone. “Of course you’re like that.” “That’s your Mars talking.” It felt less like care, more like control. They weren’t curious anymore. They were certain. Of your flaws. Of your cycles. Of your endings.

What once felt sweet now felt cold. Astrology turned from comfort to criticism. You felt picked apart. Summed up. Defined by placements. Not feelings. Not effort. Just aspects and transits.

And still, you missed them. You missed the nights reading charts. Laughing at your rising signs. Dreaming together under the stars. Back then, it felt eternal. Like you had time. Now, you barely say hello.

You wonder if they still read your chart. If they track your moon phases. If they check when your Saturn returns. Or if they’ve moved on. Reading someone else. Saying the same soft things.

Maybe you weren’t different. Maybe they weren’t either. Maybe you were a lesson. A season. A story they stopped finishing.

It hurts more because they weren’t wrong. Maybe you do close off. Maybe your Venus does rush. But it’s one thing to notice. Another to use it. Astrology isn’t meant for blame. Or silence.

Now, the stars feel quieter. You read them alone. And it’s not the same. But it’s also more honest. You listen for your own voice. Not theirs. You look for healing, not labels.

You still love the chart. Just not how they read it. You still believe in the stars. Just not in how they left. They knew your soft places. And walked away anyway.

Maybe that’s the true wound. Not that they saw you. But that they stopped holding you. And you still ache in constellations they once memorized.

You’ve changed since then. You’re more careful now. Not colder—just quieter. You protect what’s yours. Especially the map to your soul.

Because not everyone deserves to read you. Not everyone should hold your sky. Some people look up and still miss the stars.