To be frank with you, I am deeply afraid.
I want to always say a big hearty YES whenever you ask me “Hey, are you free today?”. I want to always say “sure” whenever you timidly ask “Do you have time? I need someone to talk to”, even if you send the text way before the sun has risen, and I had a final exam to prepare for in the morning. I want my presence to assure you that I will always be there for you. I want to make sure you never hesitate coming to me for help. I want to be the first person you will approach when things go south.
I want to.
But college is selfish. It is stealing every free time I have faster than a dashing young man can steal my fragile heart. It is demanding, and challenging, and needs all of my senses focused on it every hour of the day.
And I am sorry.
You were there to catch me while I was falling to my demise, and I landed into your arms – unscathed and whole. Now, my “sorry I’m busy” breaks you into a million pieces, leaving you to fix yourself up on your own.
I want you to know that every single time I have told you “no”, “sorry I can’t”, “I have homework to do”, “next time”, it chips off a part of me that you have patched up last year. I no longer have the proof of your salvation in my skin. It is as if you had never been there to save me at all.
And I want you to know that I am trying. That my phone will always be there and you can always call me – I will always try to call back. My free time now consists of midnights laying dead tired on the bed, but I can always listen to you chatter away. I will be thankful you still trust me as your confidante.
My love and concern for you is not dependent on how often I see you.
If I have ever disappointed you with my absence, I am sorry. I know that no amount of apologies can reclaim a friendship we’ve cherished so fondly just a year ago, but I know not what else to do. Nothing else, but to write you this letter. And hope that you understand.
Trust that I will come back.
And I shall trust that you will not leave.