I texted you, asking if you were by any chance free to lend me that ear or shoulder you graciously offered a week ago. Within a few minutes, you replied saying: “lay it on me, friend.” You called, and on the first second, made a big deal about being able to talk to me on the phone since we last talked a year ago. You commented on how laughter was immediately pulled out of me despite my state, and was pleased. Me being me, needed to warm up — I couldn’t just lay out everything I was going through.
“Enough about me, this is about you. Do you want to tell me what’s up?”
I remembered my breath hitching at that question, wondering how and where to start. Your voice softened over the phone as you sensed my hesitation, “is everything alright?.”
I lost it. I was choking on my sobs as ugly sounds came out from my lungs. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I barely recognised my own voice as I tried to breathe through my tears. Your voice softened even more as you asked me if I was alright. You told me, “just let it out, it’s okay.” I blabbered on about how I hated that you had to see me like this, but you kept telling me that it was completely okay.
After making a few jokes and providing anecdotes to make me laugh (your high-pitched “story time!” still makes me roll my eyes despite them being covered by a thin sheer of tears), you said:
“This is me adding my pinch of salt of an opinion, but know that you are allowed to feel what you feel. Because when I was going through what I was, everyone was telling me that it was going to be okay and to stay strong. But really, no one truly knows the pain that you feel other than you, even if they may be in something similar. We can empathise and be there for one another, but no one truly is able to know what you feel.”
You comforted, yet, was also honest about what I was going through: “I know things have not been the best lately. But know that they don’t last forever. And you’ve made mistakes, as you so rightfully admitted. But you should never apologise for feeling the way you feel.”
Before ending the conversation, you told me: “if you ever need me, know that I am just a text and a call away. really.” I meant what I said, I really do appreciate how ready you were to pull my hand up from the tides.
I guess you were right about one thing: we weren’t just regular friends with history in our past life — we were lifelong confidants.
