You saw red flags. Your Mars said, “Let’s go.”

You saw the red flags. You saw them clearly. But you moved anyway. Something in you didn’t care. Or maybe it did—and went anyway. It felt like gravity. Like fire dressed as fate. You told yourself it was special. But deep down, you knew. Your Mars knew too. And it didn’t say no. It said go. Fast. Hard. Without looking back.

Not all love feels safe. Some of it feels sharp. Restless. Familiar in a haunting way. That’s how toxic love begins. It comes in fast. With eyes that hold storms. With words that feel like spells. And suddenly, you’re inside it. Inside something that doesn’t breathe softly. Mars speaks in heat and impulse. It pushes without pause. It wants. It takes. It doesn’t wait to see if it’s real.

Then comes Rahu. Rahu makes it feel fated. Like you were meant to meet. Like it had to happen this way. There’s a haze around them. A dream. A pull that isn’t love—but feels deeper than it should. That’s the trap. You chase the feeling. Not the person. You chase what you think it could become. And the more uncertain it feels, the more you want it. That’s Rahu’s trick. He offers fantasy. He hides the cost.

Sometimes Saturn joins too. That’s when it gets heavier. You stay out of guilt. Out of duty. You convince yourself this is karmic. That you’re supposed to fix it. You carry the weight for both. You feel old with them. Tired. But loyal. Even when it hurts. Even when it’s lonely. Saturn holds you in place. Not with love—but with fear of breaking something that already broke.

Toxic love isn’t just about chaos. It’s about patterns. Your chart shows them. Mars square Venus. Moon with Saturn. Pluto touching your angles. These placements don’t doom you. But they do repeat until you notice. Until you choose not to follow. Even pain has a rhythm. And astrology helps you hear it.

But endings come. Sometimes slowly, like a quiet exit. Sometimes suddenly, like the door slams behind them. Either way, you’re left aching. Not just for them—but for the version of you that believed it could work. You miss the high. You miss the storm. And that’s okay. It’s part of it. You weren’t just in love. You were trying to remember yourself in someone else.

Astrology doesn’t blame you. It just explains you. It shows the wound you forgot you had. It shows who pressed it. And why you let them. That’s not weakness. That’s memory. That’s karma. But also, that’s the start of healing. When you look back and finally see it clearly. When you stop calling it love and start calling it a lesson.

You don’t need to hate them. You don’t need to erase it. It came for a reason. It stayed too long. But it showed you something. About your boundaries. Your patterns. Your fire. You’ll carry the scar, yes. But not the shame. You listened to Mars before. Next time, maybe you’ll listen to Venus. Maybe you’ll choose the kind of love that whispers instead of burns.

You’re not broken. You’re just learning. The stars don’t judge you. They just remind you where you’ve been. And they’ll still be there—quietly watching—when you finally walk in a new direction.