Retrograde Venus? You loved them twice and regretted both.

Venus went retrograde, and so did love. What you thought was finished came back. They returned, quietly, like nothing ever ended. You answered, even when you shouldn’t have. The connection still had gravity. You felt it immediately. It pulled you in, softly, like before.

The first time felt like magic. The second time felt like memory. It wasn’t real this time. It was familiar. But it wasn’t safe. They spoke the same words again. You believed them, half-heartedly. You wanted to believe, truly. That’s what retrograde Venus does. It tests what you haven’t released.

They reminded you of a version of yourself. The one who hoped too much. The one who forgave too easily. You thought time would change things. It didn’t. The same patterns returned quickly. The same pain knocked again. And you still opened the door.

The love wasn’t new. It was recycled. The wounds were too. You gave more than you had. They took what they always did—your softness, your silence, your second chances. And you let them. You knew how this would end. Still, you waited. Just in case you were wrong.

But you weren’t wrong. They left again. Slower this time. No big goodbye. Just fading replies and short calls. Emotionless texts and missed plans. The distance widened, word by word. You watched them go, again. This time, you didn’t chase.

The second ending hurt deeper. It wasn’t surprising, just quieter. There were no screams this time. Only the sound of truth sinking in. They didn’t come back to stay. They came back to remind you—this was never yours to keep.

Venus retrograde teaches through echoes. It brings people back, not for love, but for clarity. You loved them. Twice. You regretted both. Not because you weren’t strong. But because your heart still believed.

Now you sit with silence. But it’s not lonely anymore. It feels real. You stopped waiting. You stopped hoping they’d become something they never were. That’s what growth looks like sometimes—letting go, even of the beautiful parts.

You don’t miss them. You miss the dream. You miss who you were before the repeat. But now you see clearly. They were a lesson. Not a partner. A mirror, not a match. And that’s okay.

When Venus moves forward, so will you. The past knocked. You answered. You learned. And next time it knocks, you won’t.