Dulces, vacías, mentiras

Someone took his life yesterday, and there is still not much we know about that.

It's been months since the last we spoke, and yet... you texted me. I've not been able to push away the question, and for two minutes the only thing I could ask myself was "why me". Why, simply. I'm betting there are more people in your life you could have thought of before me. And yet, there it was, there it is. The message, the twenty-odd minutes on the phone... and this feeling that I was talking to an acquaintance, not a friend anymore. Despite those feelings, there I've been, there I will be. Because I understand you are fucked, broken, destroyed. I understand. I get it. And thus, I shall be here. 

Still, I wanted to sit for five minutes and wonder about the strange sensation when I heard your crying voice on the other side. I could not help but tell you that I would've loved to hear that voice in completely different circumstances. Forgive this cruelty, but I wonder if, things being different, we would have spoken on the phone ever again. I am sorry, this is just what I thought. 

I am sorry you are going through this. If you might need me... well, I'll be here, of course. I like to think I always was.