She left a tiny heart on one of my photos, the day before she went to sleep and didn't wake up.
I have tapped her tiny profile on that photo countless times, knowing it will take me to the snapshots of her life and knowing it will hurt so much to see them.
And whenever I come to a photo of her radiant face, I can't help but press my finger into the screen. As though it will take everything I am feeling about this loss and send it to her. Or perhaps, selfishly, so she can comfort for me from wherever she now exists—because she would.
We hadn't known each other long, but that didn't matter. She was one of those rare souls who didn't measure kindness by years or familiarity. She gave it to me as though we had always known each other. And now I am finding myself unable to measure my grief at losing her.
There is so much I could say about what she brought into my life and the many ways she helped me grow, but I shared those thoughts with her while she was still here to receive them. And I want those words to stay there—between us—like the exchanged gifts that they were.
We must practise what she already knew: kindness is not meant to be measured, but given without hesitation or expectation.
Thank you for teaching me, my dear friend.
The smallest act of kindness, is worth more than the greatest intent ~ Kahlil Gibran
