This story is not a funny anecdote about a guy who didn’t know how to use a vacuum. It’s not a tale about the man who decided to piss off my parents, it’s not about cheating, or cleanliness, or sports-addiction, or any of that. It’s also not deep or tragic.
It’s not even about one bad boyfriend. It’s about them all. Not just all the “bad” ones, but all the one’s that didn’t work out. Not even just the boyfriends, it’s the crushes who passed on you, the friends who see you like a sister. It’s about why it hurts so much when things don’t work out the way you are hoping they will. In my experience nine out of ten times it has less to do with the guy and more to do with a shift in how I perceive myself. There are plenty of fish in the sea, and there will always be someone waiting in the wings to make you feel beautiful and special. Then one day, they might not see you that way anymore. Then despite years of positive affirmation in the mirror, despite knowing you are smart and having the test scores to prove it, despite having dozens of friends who love you to prove that you are, in fact, lovable; you will doubt that essential and crucial fact about yourself. This story is not about a relationship, it’s about why we cry over the men who we know are not worthy of us. Most importantly, this story is not a story, it’s a poem:

You looked at me like I was the most beautiful woman in the world.
You spoke to me like I was the most intelligent person you had ever met.
You liked that I was goofy, and geeky, and gawky.
You even found my love of alliteration adorable.
In your eyes I saw reflected back at me the Woman I had always hoped I’d
become.

And she wasn’t good enough.