“…You grabbed your bag and rifled through the pockets. When you found it with your fingertips before pulling it out your smile lit up. You sat down beside me, grabbed my right hand and said. “You’ll always be able to find your direction with this.”
You placed a cheap, small and silver compass in my palm…
…You died of your childhood illness a few months after I left town. I didn’t make it to your funeral because of a major snow and ice storm. I don’t know where you are buried. I have two photos of you on your last birthday and that fucking compass as the only reminders I ever knew you.
I would not have the most amazing friends that I do today if it weren’t for you. Sometimes I lay awake wishing I could bring you back to life to meet them.”