I remember - I don't think you would, but I do - the texts you sent me. Maybe three, over the space of a year. 

"Are you alright?"

"Is everything okay?"

"You can talk to me if you need to."

This was eons ago. Lifetimes have passed. The landscape has changed, mountains levelled. 

But I remember what I thought then: 

What are you doing? You're not my friend. 

I don't need false commiseration. 

But now I know you did, perhaps, understand. Now I know you were reaching out as someone who had been in the trenches, and wanted to help me.  

Remembering then, and understanding now, makes me feel like I have live and died many times.