I want to talk to you, because I'm panicking. And you have always been able to calm me, no matter what the problem. I want to tell you about all my troubles, and hear you explain them away easily with comforting words and calming smiles. I wish I could. I wish you were other than you are, so that I could speak freely to you without inhibition. I wish you could be the one at the end of the phone. The one on speed dial that I could call and would answer immediately, no matter the time or the place. But although, allotted, you give your time to me, I fear the absence of schedule will turn your smiles to sighs of exasperation. Why should you care how I am feeling when you are filled with constant worries and stresses of your own? Your allotted time to me is a rock on which to cling, for you it is only a time that you have to act with care. I am drowning here and I feel like any words from you, any words of kindness that is, would soothe my restlessness and put me right. And yet I am adrift.
I cannot call. Cannot write. You are as far apart from me as I am with others. This undying need for you to calm me, care for me... it will not fade no matter the guise it is painted in. I have thought family, I have thought love... and now that I think of friendship still it burns me that in my hours of need I turn to you, possessor of the sweetest smile. For I am bound to care for you and your opinion more than am to care for others, though I have prayed for release and another to load my affections on to. And simply, I wish I could be loved by you, enough for you to take me and hold me in comfort, though the future and the weight of the world may batter against me with all its might.
And so I write this instead, knowing you shall never read it, and wishing that it had not been necessary.