The 5th lord gave butterflies. The 6th lord squashed them.

The 5th lord gave butterflies. Bright ones. Soft-winged, full of promise. You smiled more. Slept less. Checked your phone. Waited for their name. It felt electric. Safe. Like falling without fear. You laughed freely. Everything they did amazed you. Even the flaws felt romantic. That was the high. The rush. The opening scene of a love story.

But then it changed. Quietly. Without warning. The butterflies slowed. They stopped landing. You still reached out. They stopped reaching back. What once felt warm turned strange. Their eyes wandered. Their voice cooled. You wondered why. You asked gently. They shrugged. You let it go. Again. And again.

The 6th lord had arrived. No grand entrance. Just subtle shifts. Small silences. Missed calls. Heavy sighs. They were tired. Or distracted. Or both. You picked up the pieces. Smiled through the ache. Told yourself it was normal. That love needs patience. But the glow faded. The magic dulled.

You started counting things. Words unspoken. Things left undone. Your efforts. Their absence. You felt unseen. They felt annoyed. Love turned into lists. You gave. They took. You cried quietly. They looked away. Your body stayed. Your heart wandered. This wasn’t love anymore. Not the kind you knew.

The chart explained it. Fifth and sixth misaligned. Romance met resistance. Joy met judgment. The love wasn’t gone. But it felt tired. Out of place. Too heavy to hold. Too fragile to fix. You tried anyway. Of course, you did.

But resentment grew roots. Deep ones. Hidden under shared smiles. You joked less. Fought more. You waited for an apology. It never came. Or when it did, it stung. You missed them while beside them. That hurt the most.

Then came the quiet ending. No big fight. Just slow retreat. Less talking. Less touch. You stopped trying. They didn’t notice. Or didn’t care. One day, it was done. No goodbye. Just distance. And silence.

Now, you remember things. Their laugh. Their stare. Your own softness. You replay moments. Look for clues. Wonder if it was real. It was. But not enough. Not lasting. Not safe.

The stars show patterns. Yours showed this ending. A love that bloomed quickly. But couldn’t hold weight. It taught you. To ask more. To give less. To spot imbalance early. To walk before breaking.

You don’t hate them. But you miss what could’ve been. A version where it worked. Where the butterflies stayed. Where love didn’t drain you. But some stories don’t last. Some people aren’t home. Just lessons.

So you grieve slowly. In songs. In dreams. In silence. But you heal. Bit by bit. One day, love returns. Softer. Wiser. Better held. You’ll know what to keep. And what to never carry again.