Dear Ruby,

How were you always so comfortable talking?

How did you make it seem so easy? You could talk to anyone about anything.

I remember, one time, watching you talk to one of our little cousins for hours about a TV show you didn’t even like. Or when you had a conversation with Aunt Jane about knitting and you don’t even know how to knit. How did you do it?

You could make friends anywhere. It always seemed so easy for you.

I haven’t talked to a lot of people since you died. Some of them want to be nosy. Some of them want to give me meaningless advice. Some of them tell me things like it’ll be okay, I’m strong, I’ll get over it, it’ll get better, it’s all part of some cosmic plan—what a joke.

But the worse are the strangers that tell me sorry for my loss, but you can tell they don’t care. The ones that heard the story, that read the papers. That don’t make eye contact as they say their condolences. I can tell that some of those think you deserved to die, that it was justice served.

It was your fault. That much I can’t argue with, but you didn’t deserve to die. You made a mistake.

A horrible, horrible mistake… and you paid for it. And you left us not even able to defend you. Those people will only know you as a villain, a bad kid, a reckless teen.

They’ll never know the kind of sister you were, the kind of daughter, friend, girlfriend, student. And I hate them for that, but I also hate you, for leaving us.

It’s not okay. It’s not going to get better. There’s no plan here.

Sometimes I want to talk. To someone. About anything, everything. I miss our conversations the most… probably. You didn’t spew trivial oohs and aahs, you always had something meaningful to contribute, as if you had really thought about what I was saying, as if the latest book I was reading really interested you.

I don’t know how you did that. How everyone you talked to you made the center of your attention, and only those of us who really knew you will ever remember it.

The world won’t remember you, and if it does, it will only be for one mistake, and for that… I’m sorry.