What My Horoscope Should Have Read

Story by Nadyne Kasta
Illustration by Véronique Côté


Scorpio, this month, you’ll go to Belgium to see your boyfriend. He’ll work so much the first week you’re there that you’ll hardly get to see him, and though you knew he’d have to work a lot, having so much time alone in a foreign country in the dead of January is tougher than you’d imagined it would be. And maybe it wouldn’t be so bad except that the time that you do have with him isn’t great. You know you have a tendency to be overly sensitive so you’ll try not to freak out on the outside even though a storm is brewing on the inside.

You’ll go to

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a museum alone. You’ll go to a movie alone. He’ll have the weekend off and you’ll go out of town together to visit his friends. The weekend will go well.

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There’ll be tenderness and connection, and you’ll tell yourself that you were making a bigger deal out of everything than you should have been.

He’ll work some more. You’ll go to another museum alone, see another movie alone. You’ll hang out in his apartment by yourself. You’ll try to write funny, clever stories that everyone will love but all you’ll end up getting out are crappy blog posts on kindness, and T4 slips. In the afternoons, you’ll hear his upstairs neighbours arguing, and what sounds like heavy chairs being dragged, back-and-forth, across the room. Every afternoon. Arguing. Chairs dragging. Arguing. Chairs dragging. On a day when your patience has worn thin, you’ll blast Happiness is a Warm Gun from the stereo in a passive-aggressive attempt to get them to shut the fuck up. You’ll go for walks. You’ll write more boring, shitty stories that no one will ever read. You’ll listen to the flaming lips and think how brave it is to sing the line: ‘do you realize/that you have the most beautiful face?’

On his night off, he’ll take you out to dinner and you’ll have a good talk. He’ll say that he’s feeling guilty for not having enough time to spend with you. You’ll say it’s ok, that you knew he wouldn’t have enough time. You’ll tell him not to mistake your patience for weakness. He’ll say he doesn’t. You’ll talk about your differences. And the distance. You’ll also talk about the things you both want. There will be more tenderness and connection. There will be hope. The next day, he’ll come home sick and have to spend the following days sleeping and sweating out the sickness. You’ll go to the flea market alone. You’ll

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see yet another movie alone. When he starts to feel better, you’ll run errands together and he’ll be a little short with you. You’ll feel slightly humiliated that you’ve flown across the world to see a guy who can’t even muster up whatever one needs to muster up to refrain from snapping at you in front of all the other shoppers in the curtains department at Ikea.

On your third sunday there, he’ll get up and do the dishes, and you’ll get up and not know what to do with yourself. You won’t talk to each other and you’ll wonder if you’ve ever felt more alone in your life.

He’ll go back to bed and all you’ll be able to think is that something is very wrong. This is not just you being overly sensitive. It shouldn’t feel like this. It should definitely feel at least a tiny bit better than this. You’ll ask if there’s someone else. He’ll say there isn’t. You’ll ask if he’s sure. He’ll say he’s sure. You’ll say, One hundred percent sure? He’ll say, Yes, one hundred percent sure. You’ll say that you don’t understand why things are going so badly. You’ll say that you don’t know what to do anymore, that you think that maybe you should go home early. He’ll say that maybe you should break up. You’ll say that that’s pretty much what is happening. Tears will well up in your eyes and roll down your cheeks despite your best efforts to keep them in.

He’ll say that he’s not sure what’s going on. He’ll say that maybe he isn’t ready for all of this. He’ll talk about the distance again. The fucking distance. He’ll reiterate the differences in your personalities. Stupid fucking differences. You won’t be sure what percentage of the break-up was caused by the differences, what percentage was caused by the distance, and what part was him just not wanting to try anymore.

You’ll go on a 5 hour walk alone. You’ll play ‘what if’. What if i hadn’t come?, What if he hadn’t worked so much?, What if we lived in the same city? You’ll realize the pointlessness of the game but you’ll play it anyway. You’ll find a phone, and call your best friend back home. Come home. Call the airline right now, get on a plane and get the fuck home, she’ll say. You’ll call the airline, change your ticket, and feel like a failure at life.

You’ll call your mom. The same mom who paid for the ticket to go see him in the first place. Can you pick me up at the airport? I’m coming home tomorrow. she’ll know better than to ask questions. She is your mother, after all.

You’ll consider going out and getting drunk but you’ll know you’re too fragile to be drunk so you’ll just smoke too many cigarettes and wander aimlessly instead. When you do finally get back to his apartment, he’ll say something about feeling sorry for all of this. you’ll say something about being sorry too even though you don’t really know what you’re apologizing for.

The following day, he’ll drive you to the airport, you’ll say goodbye, go home. And you’ll wonder, as you often wonder, what the purpose of this all was, what the experience was there to teach you. You’ll go over it with friends, alone, again and again. You’ll rack your brain about it for months. In the grand scheme of my life, there must be a reason for this, you’ll tell yourself. You’ll expect a divine revelation but the best you’ll come up with, scorpio, is that, sometimes, figuring out what doesn’t work brings you one step closer to figuring out what does.


Nadyne Kasta is a lot like you. Especially, if you enjoy country love songs, dinking around with your camera, and feeling feelings. If you also have a serious aversion to the word “sensual”, and consider your houseplants friends, you basically are her.

Véronique Côté is from a town that is much too small.
As a photographer and illustrator, she experiences both happiness and a sense of being an impostor.
She feels guilty for never creating enough, and wishes luck were a better friend.
Being a fashion designer is what pays the bills.
She wishes clothes grew on tree… And she strongly believes that she was a musician in a previous life.