Letters to Phil. (Phan)

Letter Ten.

March 4, 2015.

Dear Phil,

Today was bad. It was so bad, oh my god, Phil.

First, when I woke up, I had a massive headache from crying myself to sleep last night. I took some medicine before I did anything else and that helped that.

Then I looked at my phone and that's when I saw you had texted me. You had texted me, tell me to meet you at the Starbucks around the corner from my house. I didn't know what I expected. I thought maybe you were coming back, but how I was wrong.

You didn't look like you were doing too well. You looked so sad when I walked into that Starbucks. I had sat down in front of you, wanting to put my hand on yours, but I didn't. We had stayed so quiet for so long. It felt like it should've been years since we were sitting there. Time was going by suddenly so fast after we started talking, though. We were joking, only slightly. Bringing up old memories and everything.

And then it seemed like it just slowed down immediately when you said my name. You looked at me and I could see the sadness and regret in your eyes and I knew I wasn't about to like what I was going to hear. And I was right, I didn't.

You told me that we shouldn't talk anymore. That we should take some time apart for a while. You didn't specify how long, but I didn't want to know. My heart broke into so many pieces after the words left your mouth.

You said you were really sorry, that you hope we can be like we used to in the future, gave me one last hug, before walking out. I didn't miss the tears that fell from your eyes. I had collapsed to the ground after you left. Everyone was staring at me. I knew fans would be around, but I didn't care at that point. I wanted to go home.

I had picked myself up and I ignored everyone that I walked passed, trying so desperately to stop crying and wipe the tears away, but it wasn't working. I had ran into a group of fans and I felt so bad for telling them I couldn't take pictures, but I think they understood because I was a wreck. I still am a wreck.

And when I got home, I could barely even make it into the door before I collapsed again. It's only been an hour since I finally calmed down enough to call Pj. He's over now. He made me calm down, granted, it took him three hours, but he did it.

Today was bad. So bad, Phil.

I lost you. I lost you for good and I'm so sorry.

Love,
Dan.