Dear Dan (Phan)

6

Dear Dan,
Yesterday I came to visit. From the night beforehand to the moment I write this letter everything has been one long blur. Events are out of place in my mind, and nothing feels real anymore. I am going to write down what happened, both so you can know, and so I can sort out my thoughts. I'm not entirely sure if I will be able to get through this in all honesty, I am a wreck of a person, but here it goes anyway:
The night before I came to visit must of been one of the longest of my life. The moonlight shone onto my face through my bedroom window as worry and fear ate away greedily at my stomach. I felt sick. Horrible thoughts all rushed around my mind each more heart retching than the next, each trying their very best to destroy me. On top of all that you have the tears, I would be looking physically fine one moment to having a complete breakdown in another. I was a mess that night.
The morning came early for me, and I got out of bed at 5am on the dot. I quickly pulled on some clothes and shakily wrote a note to my parents explaining where I was going. I kept trying to keep calm, kept trying to think positive things, yet there where more negative thoughts than positive ones. No matter what the story books say bad always prevails over good.
I took the last letter you sent me, so...so I could reassure myself that you're real. It sounds ridiculous I know, but sometimes I wonder if you where all just one long dream, a figment of my imagination. Dan Howell, Phil Lester's imaginary friend. But I had proof. I had the letters.
Walking up to the train station I counted my steps 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. The numbers went on and on but I didn't stop, it kept me distracted, prevented me from losing my mind and falling apart in public. Stopped me just coming to a halt in the middle of the road as I collapsed and called out for your name into the misty morning air. I didn't know what had happened to you, and was about to find out be it good or bad. Just count the steps. That's all I needed to do. Just count the steps.
It was a long walk to the train station, and as I trudged onto the platform I counted out 1500 steps before stopping to look around. All I saw was the colour grey. A few grey men in their grey suits and grey hair. Grey pavement and grey walls which you could only just make out in the grey light casted by the grey sky. A 50 shades of grey joke would be appropriate here, but I really don't feel I have any humour left in me.
The train roared up 10 long silent minutes later, the breaks screamed and screeched as the train came to a stop. I opened the door and walked in. 1510, 1511, 1512. The carriage I went into was completely empty except for balding middle aged man at the back whose face was stuck in the morning paper. It was too early for most people. I sat in around the middle of the carriage in a seat next to the window. It was one of those seating arrangements that where designed for 4 people, so you had 2 chairs facing one way, and another two facing the other, separated by a plastic table littered with old coffee cups and last weeks paper. The emptiness was strangely reassuring. The train soon got going and I found myself starting out the window as dark thoughts started to take hold of my mind. What if I never found you? What if I never heard from you again? What if...? I suddenly felt my chest grow tight, what if the unspeakable has happened to you? Tears where threatening to spill as I stared intently upwards, trying to focus my mind on the advertisements decorating the carriages. No words can properly describe how I was feeling. There was a fear, anxiety, stress, worry, but yet at the same time I felt hope. Hope that you would be alright. Hope that you will just be at your house, just as worried about me as I am about you. And I followed this hope like a fly follows light.

The train pulled into the station at around 10am, and I was so nervous I felt like I was about to vomit. Nervous about the prospect of actually meeting you in person, but more nervous about not finding you. Scrunching my fists into balls I started to walk out the station, avoiding all eye contact as I looked only at my feet 1580, 1581, 1582, 1583.
Stepping out into the small town I suddenly realised that I had not the faintest idea where you lived. I mean I had your address, I had been writing it weekly on the front of letters for the past 6 years. But where was it in comparison to the station, it could be anywhere. I felt panic rise up into my throat as I looked around. Everything was already going wrong, now what do I do? I looked round for some clue as to where you lived, but all I saw where streets full of  houses all with the same peeling white exterior and meter square of over grown grass outside the front door. There was no shops, no underground, no nothing. Just me. Lost in the mist that shrouded the pavement.
Maybe I could ask someone? I looked around for a person and after few minutes I spotted a middle aged woman with her dog. She had a round friendly face and a thatch of blonde hair resting neatly on the top of her head.
Me: Excuse me I'm looking for Thaed street, you wouldn't happen to know where it is would you?
Dog Lady: Errmmm...let me think it rings a bell. Oh yes that's right if you go down there chuck a left then...errm...walk to the end of the road and turn right I think you will pop out right in the centre.
Me: That is a huge help, thank you so much.
Dog Lady: No problem dear.
I raced off down the street that Dog Lady indicated to, my heart racing a million miles an hour I was shaking so badly it was a wonder I didn't just collapse. Fear was shooting through my body and my stomach was churning. Just count the steps. 1756, 1757, 1758, 1759. I kept on walking feeling like I was about to collapse, never once had I felt so scared. My head was spinning and my hand trembling. I kept trying to tell myself that it will be okay, that you will be okay, that you will be there waiting for me with anticipation. 1800, 1801, 1802, 1803. I felt a sharp pain pull at my stomach, then again. Anxiety cramps. I walked on trying my very best to ignore them.