Panic.

I heard about the tragedy and all I thought was that you might be hurt. So here's an impulse sent through telephone wires that you'll probably never feel quite like an aftershock or a deep tremor. I hope you're okay, and if you're not, then I'm sorry that the last thing I could think of to talk about was myself. I feel like a selfish son of a bitch and I haven't heard from you in almost a month. And you might already know this but I care about you, and I just wish that I could find some sign that you're okay and, however selfishly, that you're thinking of me too.

Until then, I won't be speaking your name. I have too much respect for you to talk behind your back. But enough about me, because as a topic I'm quite limited. You've been away for so long and you've lived a life that dreams are made of. I just wish that I could be a part of it.

And that's all I'll ever write. And I know that if it's meant to be then as soon as you're back things will be just like they used to. If not, then I'm a sorry fool who'll just have to move on and accept his losses in respect to his gains and move on.