Jude Bellingham Angst - Blog Posts

jude Bellingham and number 33

i love you, i’m sorry | jude bellingham

song; i love you, i’m sorry - gracie abrams

part of the spotify wrapped special

You weren’t an easy person to be in a relationship with. But Jude was even less so. A relationship between the two most complicated people on the planet was exactly what neither of you needed, yet it was what you both found yourselves in.

A long time ago, you promised yourself you wouldn’t end up in a toxic relationship. You had seen too many examples not to recognize the signs and know when to stay and when to walk away. So, when you started noticing that the dynamic with Jude was shifting into something more harmful, you decided to put a stop to it.

“Either you change your attitude, or we’re done,” you told him one day when he was arguing with you over some petty nonsense.

Jude didn’t like that.

You didn’t like that he always had an opinion about you, and he didn’t like that you acted as though the world revolved around you. You’d tell him you didn’t think that way, and he’d always reply that you made everything about yourself.

“You always think everything is about you. It’s always about you. Stop being so selfish for a second.”

You didn’t like that either.

There was no winning for either of you. When you argued, you both lost, and you were tired of losing. So was he. When you told him you were going back to your place, he let you. But weeks later, you forgot to mention that you were leaving the country. He found out through a friend of your best friend and called you when you were already on the other side of the world.

“You could’ve told me,” he said over the phone, his voice tinged with melancholy.

“We had broken up,” you replied.

It was funny—you hadn’t thought about Jude the entire time since you moved, but one call from him, and now you couldn’t get him out of your head. You had truly loved him to your core, but you weren’t compatible. You simply weren’t. And maybe that’s what hurt the most.

Two years later, you saw him for the first time in a long time. He was on vacation in the city where you now lived, and he sent you a message saying he was nearby and inviting you out for coffee. And how could you deny Jude a coffee?

The conversation wasn’t awkward or profound. It felt like you’d been teleported two years back to when you were still a couple, just talking about your day or your upcoming projects. You spoke with the familiarity of former lovers, though you no longer were.

A few hours after seeing him, when you were back comfortably in your apartment, you saw your phone screen lightning with a text message from him.

“I love you, I’m sorry.”

You frowned and wanted to throw your phone out the window because you knew exactly what he meant—and you felt the same. Jude was both the best and the worst thing that had ever happened to you, but you had loved him first. You knew you were a dick when you were with him—though he had been one too—and it frustrated you to think that maybe, if you’d met at this point in life, if you’d met two years later, it might have worked.