Ruby S.
Photography by Bri Nitsberg
If you’re reading this, I’m sorry.
If you’re reading this, then just know I write poetry about him to sum him up into just a few lines of text, instead of taking the effort to properly format who he was. Being fifteen, I learned what love was. Or rather what I thought it was. Holing up in my room obsessing over if this guy was going to text me or not. Never feeling like I did anything right, and constantly asking him if he was mad at me just because he looked at me a certain way, or didn’t hug me after the bell rang.
The summer before my junior year, he and I were no longer officially dating, but definitely in the realm of a situationship; classic.
I knew how he was going to react to certain things I said, his thoughts about situations, who he felt he could trust, and his loyalties. So much of myself was tied into knowing this boy, and I could not make my own decisions without thinking how they might affect him. I feared his reaction, and most definitely feared the fight.
I went on a date while we were doing distance. I innocently viewed the date as two friends hanging out, but I had told my friends and was excited to see someone else in that setting that wasn’t him. We went paddle boarding and before we paddled back to the dock, he kissed me. I was shell shocked with guilt, and asked him to immediately take me home.
I called my friend to tell her about my situation. I told her about the date, the kiss, and how I felt about it. I gave her explicit details. My friend failed to mention that he was in the car with her, listening to every last drop of information. She asked if we could talk later after she was coming home from her night, and I was left in utter oblivion. “Of course! I’m sorry.”
That night, he never texted me back. Nor the next day, or the day after that.
“Hey, are you okay?”, “Did I do something?”, “Please answer me.”, “I am so sorry, “Hello??”.
He knows.
He finally responded to my infinite messages, with “We need to talk about us.” and never said a word after that. I responded with fear, angst, and questions, and he left me to question myself. I pondered day after day, consumed with the thought of losing him.
“I honestly don’t know how to put into words that I want to kill myself because of a boy. I just did, but in a very blunt way. I know I’m not going to be the only girl he meets, but I didn’t think he would turn into a monster after me. I feel I ruined him. I can’t help but feel guilty for that. I feel as though my heart has been ripped out and he has picked and poked at it like a science experiment. Who are you, *****? You come to my house asking me why I would do such a thing and lie to you, and that I’ve changed and you don’t know who I am or why I do these things to hurt you so badly. I never liked those boys. We were broken up. I lied to protect you. I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you would hate me. Never in a million years would I think you would actually drive me to hate myself. And you want to know the saddest part? I don’t even hate you. After you stood there and told me I was rooted with ugly and treated others horribly. After you told me I was a bad friend, horrible girlfriend, and even worse daughter. After you asked me who I was, and how you couldn’t even recognize the person I was, and did not want any part of who I was becoming. After everything you put me through, after all of the manipulation, insults, pain, heartache, control, trust issues, denial, and you leaving… I still loved you. And me. The girl you loved got kissed by three guys I didn’t even like out of two games of truth or dare and a brief moment spent with a guy going to college. You hate me. Done. Broken. I see where we stand, *****. I’m sorry you hate me so much after I did that when we weren’t together. I’m sorry that I couldn’t be enough for you even in my brightest moments. I’m sorry I was never able to bring you utter and complete happiness. I’m sorry I have failed you. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to give you everything you need and want. I’m sorry. I truly am. I’m only human, and I make mistakes. But I guess in a perfect world I shouldn’t make any. Right? Because that’s where we live. You can hate me if it makes you feel better. Just know, I hate myself more. I can never live up to the expectation I set for myself let alone yours of me. You were enough. You are enough. But I wasn’t. And I’m sorry I couldn’t be.”
– September 6th, 2022
This is kept safely in my notes app that I never share. I only come across it every once in a while to remember her, not him.
Ruby S., Washington University in St. Louis
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