I can tell by the way that he answered the phone that he was asleep. 
"I’m sorry, I’m so sorry."
"No problem, what time is is? Hold on..."
I hear how he’s searching for something.
"What are you doing?"
"I just need my glasses."
"It’s 2 am and I called to talk, glasses aren’t connected to your ability to speak?"
"Don’t wake me up just to mock me.."
"I didn't... I-I’m sorry..."

Most people that I know would, if being called at 2 am, tell me to go to sleep and call them again in the morning, but not him. I knew this. 

"What’s on your mind?"

I want to tell him that my mind is completely shattered, thoughts are flying past me like they were cars on the Autobahn and I can’t stop it. I want to tell him that I am so, so, so lonely. I want to tell him that all my friends are moving forward and here I am walking backwards, retracing my own footsteps. I want to tell him that life still feels like a play where everyone else got character descriptions and lines in a manuscript, while I’m just improvising, afraid to ask for directions, help, anything. I want to tell him that what my ex said years ago still haunts me to the point of crippling anxiety if I start to think about it too much. I want to tell him how my mother thinks I’m too independent and therefore not able to have lasting relationships with men. I want to tell him how badly I want an expiration date for grieving, how I want the memories of her to slowly fade, how I don’t want to wake up with the feeling of her touch still lingering on my skin. I want to tell him that I didn’t know a single person could contain so much longing for lost things. 

My mind is a spiral. I realise I’ve been quiet for too long when he checks in on me. 

"Luu, are you still there?"
"Yea, sorry."

And here’s the second reason I called him: he doesn’t pry further, he doesn’t ask anything else, he starts to tell me about his day. I hang on to his words, like they’re the anchor that can ground me somewhere;
oh how I would give up anything to not be driftwood anymore.