moon phases, tarot cards, and the art of 'almost'

my thoughts on unrequited crushes, and loving yourself

“Some day, someone will like me like I like you”

I’m sure you’ve seen that one tiktok trend—the one with the moon phase filter, where people compare their birthday moons with someone else’s to see if the universe is nudging them and sending them signs. It’s a simple little trend really, but there’s a reason we keep indulging in it. We want to believe in destiny, that someone out there is meant for us, and that maybe, just maybe, the one we like is that person. But the truth is, most of the time, they’re not. The stars may align, but life doesn’t always follow. And yet, we cling to these 'almost' moments that feel like they could mean something but never fully do.

Take tarot, for example. When you’re caught up in the throes of an unrequited crush, it’s easy to start shuffling cards, asking questions you’re scared to get answers to on your own. Will they text me back? Do they think about me the way I think about them? Do they hate me and want me to die? (That’s one that my friends are exhausted of hearing) You pull a card, praying for some sense of clarity. Sometimes you get The Lovers, and for a fleeting moment, it feels like aphrodite is on your side, like the energy between you and them is undeniable.

My friend got me a tarot deck for my birthday, and naturally, I did a reading for myself about him. If you’re familiar with tarot, you’ll know it’s safe to say I did in fact spiral after this.

But then nothing happens. No grand declaration of love. No confession that they’ve been secretly obsessed with you just as you have with them. It’s simply…quiet. You’re still mirroring each other, lost in this forever cycle of ‘almost.’ Tarot and moon phases—they’re just different ways of dealing with the same exact thing. We look for meaning in them, hoping they’ll confirm what we want to hear: that this love, or at least this infatuation, is real.

But unrequited crushes are strange that way. They live in this in-between space, where everything feels possible and impossible all at once. You watch from the sidelines, knowing in your gut that your feelings aren’t going to be returned at all, but hoping that somehow by some miracle, they will. You overanalyse every text, every glance, every accidental brush of fingers (because he was passing you a pen). You tell yourself it means something, even when it probably (definitely) doesn’t.

Social media, especially Instagram, only adds fuel to this fire. You see their latest post and your heart does that little backflip in your chest. You check who liked it, who commented on it, and suddenly, you’re spiraling out of control. You’ve entered the vicious world of comparison, wondering why they liked someone else’s post but not yours, why they left a comment on her post but didn’t even view your story (the one you specifically curated because you think they’d like it) yet. Social media has a way of making you feel simultaneously connected and so, so distant.

And yet you really just can’t look away. It’s like staring up at a sliver of the moon, knowing there’s so much more hidden in the shadows, but still fixated on the little portion you can see. You tell yourself “if I can just be close enough, if I can just stay in their orbit, maybe things will change”. You see every like, every comment, every text as a hint of something more. But those ‘almosts’ keep slipping through your fingers, leaving you hanging between what is and what could have been.

There’s a reason we tend to romanticise unrequited love. It’s poetic. It’s tragic in a way that makes it feel meaningful, like you’re the main character in some beautifully heartbreaking movie. And yet, there’s nothing more painful than loving someone who just doesn’t love you back. Or worse—someone who does love you, but not in the way you want. That’s where the ‘almost’ comes in. You’re close enough to laugh and joke, but never close enough to hold.

There’s this strange duality in becoming closer friends with someone you have feelings for. Let me tell you from personal experience: on one hand, it feels like an immense victory—you get to be a part of their life in a worthwhile way. You share inside jokes, your humor clicks effortlessly, and it turns out your interests align in ways that feel almost too perfect. And just for a moment, it feels like maybe this could be something more. But then reality quietly settles in, and despite all that connection, you’re still just friends. There’s a line that never seems to blur. No matter how much you laugh together or how well you understand each other, you’re left with this lingering ache, knowing that you’re only ever going to be close enough without crossing into something deeper. You realise that, even with all the shared moments, you're still on the outside of the relationship you really want, and that stings in a way that’s hard to explain. It’s this mix of being ecstatic for what you have and longing for what you don’t.

And I burn for you
And you don't even know my name
If you asked me to
I'd give you everything
To be close to you
— “Close To You”, Gracie Abrams

Like the phases of the moon, (You’ve probably had enough of the moon metaphors but stay with me, I’m inspired) one minute you’re full of hope, and the next, it’s waning, leaving you with only a sliver of what you felt before. Unrequited love, in its own way, is a constant cycle—waxing and waning, rising and falling, but never fully reaching its peak. You feel close enough to be in their thoughts but never close enough to be in their heart. Again, not in that way. Not the way you want.

And let me tell you right now, yes, it’s exhausting. The art of ‘almost’ is basically living in that tension. You’re constantly wondering if you should say something, make a move, or stay silent. You replay every moment, every interaction, looking for signs you missed. Was that smile a little too long? How did they remember that little detail about me? Was that laugh genuine? Would he do that with her? It’s a form of emotional self-sabotage, but we can’t help ourselves. We want to believe that our love isn’t one-sided, that this connection isn’t just in our heads.

The thing is, maybe unrequited love teaches us something about ourselves. Maybe, just maybe, it’s less about them and more about what we’re willing to feel, even when we know it’s going to hurt. It’s about vulnerability, about letting yourself care deeply even when there’s no guarantee it’ll be returned. I think there’s something brave in that to be honest? In loving without conditions or assurances of having that same love eventually returned.

Sure, it hurts. It feels like you’re walking around with an open wound and an arrow pierced through your heart, just bleeding all over the place. But maybe that’s part of the beauty of it—the fact that you’re capable of loving so deeply, even when it’s not easy, even when it’s not reciprocated. Even when sometimes you don’t even want to anymore because that’s how much it hurts. Maybe the lesson in all of this is learning to love yourself through it, to appreciate your capacity for feeling, for caring, even when it feels like no one else is noticing it.

My best friend helped me put it into perspective recently. Naturally, when I found myself losing my mind earlier this year, I turned to her for advice. And she told me something I keep carrying with me. Maybe I use it to justify staying on this path of unreciprocated feelings, but just hear me out. She told me: “It’s girlhood.” Two words, but they stuck. Yes, it hurts. Yes, it will hurt for a while. But you have a story now, and I’m a sucker for a good story. Someday down the line, I’ll realise that at least I had the chance to feel for someone, regardless of whether they felt for me too.

And sometimes, you have to learn to appreciate the slivers, to find meaning in the incomplete, because not everything is meant to be whole all the time. Maybe the real art of ‘almost’ is making peace with that space, in accepting that not every love story ends with two people riding off into the sunset together on white horses to their magical fairytale palace.

I'm not a princess, this ain't a fairy tale
I'm not the one you'll sweep off her feet
Lead her up the stairwell
This ain't Hollywood, this is a small town
I was a dreamer before you went and let me down
Now it's too late for you and your white horse
To come around
— “White Horse”, Taylor Swift

Some stories end with just enough to guide you forward, even if the person you so desperately wanted to walk with isn’t by your side. And that’s okay. Because even in its partialness, its slivers, there’s something whole about the experience. You got to feel, and that in itself makes the ‘almosts’ worth it.

Love, Mishkah x