When I read a message written by you, it brings me back to the time when we knew each other well. When we saw one another daily, and when our experiences were more similar. I remember that when we were first considering moving to Vancouver Island, my mother asked me whether I wanted to go or not. Looking back on my thought process upon hearing that question, I have to laugh. But at the time, it seemed like the most sensical thing in the world to base a decision on: Will I be able to stand living that far away from you? That far away from the girl who I can see myself marrying? And as much as I laugh at my past folly of thought, I cannot help being brought back to my old sentiments. I wish that I was there for you. And tell you that it'll be alright. I wish I could be the guy that you would never have to feel anxious about. And when I did fuck up (which I would) I would find a way to fix it. Because you deserve it.
But, I'm not there. And right now, I am round about half a continent away from you. And as important as my sentiments towards you are...they won't transport me there. And they won't make everything okay.
So instead, a few words?
I'm fucking glad you got out of that. But as you seem to know, there's still ground to be covered? And if you're anything like me, no one else can fix you. You'll have to do it yourself - piece by piece, memory by painful memory. I'm here if you need me, though. A phone call is only worth so much...but it is worth something.