rose

as much as i loved him, i hate him. i don’t really, but part of me does. things got complicated and he just left. no matter how much hope i had, did it ever matter?

i had really thought someone finally understood me. i always felt like no one really knew me, not even myself. i wake up a different person every few hours it feels. not literally, but i always see the consequences of my actions later, and i wonder if it was really me. he understood me, and he listened, and he knew how hurt i was, despite always hiding it. and i understood him, he was just as hurt as i was, but he still wanted to give everything a chance.

he told me constantly that things would be better, that the way i felt, and still feel, were temporary. i would feel better soon, and he’d be by my side until i could see it myself and beyond. i could tell him anything and he could do the same. i liked knowing he trusted me enough to tell me these things. i tried to give as much advice as i could, despite being bad with words. i don’t think in thoughts or images or anything. i think in sound and emotion. it’s hard to give someone the words you don’t have, but i tried. he gave me excellent advice in the past, i suppose i tried to build onto that, he was the sort to not take his own advice.

i had been making him meals everyday, i felt bad after he went to the hospital. i wanted him to have something to look forward to, i cooked lunch for him because it was all i knew to do. i tried my best despite my meals being repetitive. he liked french toast. high school takes up most of my time, but i always made sure to make him something at the end of the day. if i couldn’t, i brought him an apple or two and apologized.

i remember when he confessed to me. i hadn’t really been confessed to prior, not seriously. i thought i wasn’t really one that could be loved like that. he had texted me at the end of the day, asking if he could speak with me once i got home. of course he could, he didn’t have to ask to call. i thought i was in trouble, that i did something wrong. but he ended up telling me he loved me, and wanted to know more of me. i had a “beautiful character” and i was pretty. i was kind and caring, i barely remember what exactly he said but it was all stuff i hadn't heard before. it made me cry, i had really liked him too, but i pushed it down, i didn't want to make things weird, and i had never had a crush on somebody before, it was all really new to me. i had wanted to agree, so badly, but my mother had always made this sort of thing seem taboo. i’m a good kid, probably, so i just said i would have to ask about it. i still told him i felt the same. 

i saw him the next day, afraid he’d be angry. i was always told about men who get mad and hurt people after being rejected, but i didn’t reject him, so i wasn’t too afraid. it was normal, and that was good. we had finals that day, but we were in the same testing room, which was nice, considering we had half of our classes together too. i’m pretty sure we had both periods after together that day. maybe it was the day after. they don’t make us do much during finals week, so we just got to sit there. i rested my head on his shoulder while he scrolled the internet. i felt relaxed. i felt wanted. he held my hand for the first time, and walked me out to the bus. i always felt like a baby for taking the bus, but i don’t know how to drive. i told him i’d tell my mom i wanted to love him soon, but i wasn’t too ready. he didn’t mind, seemingly.

i had spent the entire following day on the phone with him. i was really happy. my best friend was now my lover, and i didn’t have to hide that anymore. my mom had asked about it and asked if we were just friends. i felt like she would react calmly about it, so i told her we both wanted to start dating. it was late at night and i was tired, i had just wanted to drop the idea, and go to sleep.

it was the worst mistake i had made. she kept me up until around 2 in the morning. she kept asking about what i really liked about him, what i wanted out of this. i told her i really liked his personality and how sweet he was, and that i wanted my first relationship out of it. i guess that wasn’t enough, i didn’t have the words for anything i wanted out of it i guess. she told me i was just infatuated and finally happy a man wanted to pay attention to me. that’s not true. i loved his soul, i really did. 

i thought she dropped it, but just days later she wanted to go through my whole phone.

normally i wouldn't mind, but i knew what it was about. she told me he was manipulating and grooming me, her evidence being horribly out of context text messages. i tried to explain but no one would buy it. the reason he wanted me to talk to him over my friends, in that moment only, was because i was sobbing and having an outburst in front of all my friends, who did not understand my story, and did not understand why i was upset, while he did, and was open to listening to me, when everyone else was confused about what was going on. she found out about how often i hurt myself, how i was going to end my life, various inside jokes that take loads of context. it all made her angry. i felt horrible. i wanted something nice for myself, that made me happy, that helped me understand the value of my life.

so i had it anyways, who cares. i loved that man with all of me. it’s my life and not anyone else’s. i loved those three months of my life. every good memory was amazing. after coming to this school after being horribly abused by my old friends, i finally was able to feel this way without abuse and hurt behind it. 

i love evangelion. we bonded over the franchise. i was nagisa kaworu, and he was ikari shinji, born to cross paths. he bought me the sweetest dolls of the both of them. he listened to my interests and got me a gift he knew i would love. not just something he thought i might me thankful for, something i wanted. i told him i loved him at least 50 times within that hour alone, and i really did. this meant so much to me. he held me in his lap forever it felt. safe and secure and wanted.

i told my mom that all my friends pitched in to get me something nice, i wanted to protect my joy. she found out anyways, and made another hard, one-sided conversation that i didn’t want to have. 

only a few days later, he kissed me for the first time. he had been gentle, never really asking for much from me, knowing where i was coming from, but he had kissed me right on the head a few times. he had me on his lap in a band practice room, we didn’t have any work to do, kissing my cheek. i kissed him right back, i hadn’t ever before, i suppose i’m shy. he asked if he could kiss my lips. i’m hard of hearing, and he was soft-spoken, so it took a minute to understand him, but i agreed, although nervous. it was quicker than i expected, not really what i had imagined at all, but not in a bad way. it made me quiet. i remembered all i had gone through, and how they never kissed me like that. i wondered why. i could tell he felt horrible but i tried to reassure him that i wasn’t upset with him, just experiencing something new. when i recovered we kissed for a while. i’ll leave it at that.

eventually the last day of class hit. he wouldn’t be coming back to this school, he’d go somewhere else. but he told me it’d be okay, he’d still love me. i believed it, i had faith. 

summer went well at first, though i couldn’t see him in person. things got sexual somehow, but i wont elaborate. it wasn’t anything crazy, but it felt like it to me. our friend group went out to the mall, just once. we could finally go on a date, sort of. i got dressed up nice. i was ecstatic to see him, my faith was immediately restored once again. it was a beautiful day. i really enjoyed not just his presence, but everyone’s.

the next day, i found out that my mother found the letters i wrote when i thought i would take my life. it had been a while ago at that point, and i was well again. she focused on the fact that we were dating. it hurt a lot but i just endured the conversation. i told him about it, but also about how i still had faith in us, and that the opinions of others would never knock down my love for him. he broke up with me.

i spiraled. i couldn’t handle that. but i had no choice but to comply. 

quickly he became rude, dismissive, and mean. making jokes he hadn’t been before. jokes that made me feel horrible. we don’t talk much anymore.

to this day i cry for what i lost. i still don’t understand why.

i still keep your photo in my purse. 

if you read this, i miss you, i’m sorry.

update (11/09/2026):

i dislike being mean to you. i really don't want to be unkind. i wish you would see my agony. i wish you could see the way i cry at night, wishing i could be held through all the things happening in my life right now. i used to love having someone to talk to about my day, my frustrations, my joy. i lost the sense of connection i once had. you assumed something was about you, when in reality it was an overall statement about my experience. i wasn't really thinking about you when i said that, i thought about the people that hurt me when i was a girl. the ones you said wouldn't ever lay a hand on me again. now it's what i crave. i'll take anything i'm handed. i won't say you absolutely don't but maybe you don't really understand the "want" to go back to an abuser. a group of abusers even. you weren't the same, not at all.

i get scared that i can't be loved again. i feel tainted and dirty and too much. i have too much for another to keep up with. 

whatever.

Time

Go to Noon

Go to Dusk

Go to Night