TWO LAPS AROUND THE SUN

By The Psychic Cowboy 

April’s Full Moon – Two Years Later

By The Psychic Cowboy

The full moon this April marks two years. Two years since I went to say goodbye to a love—to apologize, to offer closure. Instead, I ended up believing in more than what was real.

After searching tirelessly for validation, I found myself holding an amethyst to my heart, overwhelmed with joy and gratitude. I reaffirmed: Love will win. Just keep loving.

Despite arguments, being blocked, ignored, or misunderstood, I believed that by continuing to love, I deserved a fairy tale farewell—or at least the chance to say, I apologize for the pain I caused.

I should have left at that moment. Unaware of others' intentions, their stories, their schemes—I should have stayed in the happiness of a farewell marked by a hug and a smile. Instead I held onto him like that rock. And by holding on, I sunk to the bottom of the ocean of life.

As the full moon's reflection appears once more, I find myself asking: Has that man—who once believed eternal love could transform a heart—finally understood? With a quiet, emotionless sigh, I believe I have.

In a similar pattern, two years later, I said goodbye to someone who didn’t want or need me. I kept returning, even though I had been told to go away. I never fully understood, and still don’t understand, what was so wrong with me or why I didn’t deserve the truth behind my banishment. However, I’ve come to accept that the why no longer matters. I am not entitled to an explanation. What I am entitled to is the understanding that when someone says no, it means no.

To fight someone’s no is disrespect. It is not love. And I loved him enough to honor that—to not go to war with him and instead choose peace by respecting his words.

Now, I release it all—the hope of reunion, the fantasy of rewriting the ending, and the belief that if I work hard enough on myself, maybe tomorrow will be the day.

When I lose because I chose to respect someone’s boundary, I actually win. I win by not fearing what they might think of me or what they might say about me. I gain peace today. I am no longer lost in the endless loop of hope and fear, convincing myself that if I change, if I fix whatever it is they thought was broken, if I shed parts of myself to fit into a version more appealing to them, then maybe I’ll be loved back. That’s not love. That’s survival.

I am not a virus composed of a single strand of RNA, constantly evolving and mutating to attach to a host in order to exist. I am a full strand of DNA—a double helix—whole, balanced, and exactly as I was designed to be. I am not unfinished. I am not lacking. And I do not require one single person to make me whole.

When your fuel tank is empty, and you feel drained—whether by family, work, relationships, or life circumstances—you must return to your tribe, your path, your mirror, and remember who you are. In college, we find these communities through clubs, fraternities, sororities, and student groups. In adulthood, they can be found in churches, covens, support groups, or even a circle of friends who understand your walk. These are our mirrors. These are the people who remind us who we are. This is where the strength to keep going, to rebuild your identity, and to reestablish your boundaries comes from. This is Family.

When you look into that mirror—really look—see yourself clearly. Know your worth. Know the price of changing who you are, and if someone can’t meet that cost, then they don’t get access to you. You don’t have to bend.

Both of these goodbyes—the one from two years ago and the one more recent—felt tense and unresolved. I still believe that neither of them made complete sense, and I don’t think it was fair to leave me with silence or confusion. But here’s what I’ve learned: It takes about two years to really understand someone. That’s enough time to establish a rhythm, to know the tone of a relationship, to develop an identity together. And if after those two years something still doesn’t feel right, if it feels off or misaligned, you should not stay just because you’re afraid to be alone. You should not hold on until there’s a blow-up or a breakdown. And you should not wait until you’ve lost your composure to walk away with dignity.

If it’s not right—leave. Leave with understanding, with kindness, and if you’re lucky, leave with a hug. I loved him by letting him walk out of my life and out of my mind.

Self-love looks like honoring boundaries—both others’ and my own. As I’ve matured, I’ve realized that understanding someone’s boundary gives me the power to choose whether I cross it. And that choice comes with consequences. Consequences that I might not want. So the question becomes: Am I willing to risk it all to cross that line? If the answer is no, then that boundary is doing its job. And I let it be.

I got to say thank you. That was my ending. That was my grace.

It’s true—when one door closes, God opens a window. And this time, it’s a window worth looking out. One worth exploring.