South Park © Matt & Trey.

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Craig's POV

Kenny is gone, simple as that. His bedroom ceiling caved in on him. I thought that was weird, but then again, Kenny always died in the least likely of ways.

However, he left me something. I found it sitting on my desk when I returned home after watching Kenny walk away. It was next to Stripe's cage. I guess he knew that was where I would see it.

On simple, loose-leaf paper, Kenny had written:

Craig –

It's okay to want to appear strong, but sometimes it'll get hard. There are emotions that can't be muted until they've run their course and sadness is one of them.

You can carry your sadness, but don't let it carry you. At times, you can hold it close, but never let it do the same to you. If you do, then each night when you go to bed thinking there is nothing wrong, your mind will start reeling and you will start remember things. Maybe it will be because of something someone said that day, or maybe it'll be because you've left your mind blank for too long, but you will suddenly start believing that you are fucking miserable and so fucking alone. It'll be there waiting to consume you, and if you let your sadness hold you close, in the end you'll let it consume you too. It will take control.

So it's okay to carry your sadness, but keep it somewhere special. Keep it somewhere that can be easily reached by others. If you do that, then someday it will be gone, because that is how things work. Sometimes it leaves you on its own, but sometimes you'll need help. That's what your friends are for.

And sure, some days it will return. It'll come creeping back because that is what happens in life. Things go up and things go down. So when it returns, take comfort in the familiarity and remember that one day it'll be gone again. It won't stay unless you invite it to.

When you become happy, it overwrites all the sadness.

So, do it for yourself and for the people who love you – be happy. You deserve it.

I think it's okay to remember the bad things in life; however, don't dwell on them, just simply remember them alongside all the good things.

If you can, that's how I want you to remember me as well.

During one of Kyle Broflovski's science presentations back in high school, I remember him saying that if a child is incapable of experiencing physical pain then they won't be able to fully develop mentally. If that's true, then maybe it's the same for emotional pain. Maybe that's what Kenny is saying. I think that makes sense.

I also remember Kyle saying that animals often wander off to die alone. Maybe humans aren't any different.

I tucked the letter away somewhere safe. I couldn't bring myself to reread it, but someday I will. Someday when I'm feeling like shit, I'll read it again and his words will be a reminder that things do get better.

The letter isn't signed, but then again, it doesn't need to be signed. I'd recognize that messy handwriting anywhere. I'd recognize those words anywhere, even though – before now – they had remained unsaid.

If he were here, I'd probably joke about the letter to him. "I didn't know you were so fucking poetic," I'd say.

But he's not here.

In small yet significant ways, Kenny made a difference. I think he made a difference in all the lives he came in contact with, even if he didn't realize it. I suppose, even now, he continues to do so.

He is special in that way.

It's been a week already since we watched him walk off and we buried him one final time. I know he won't be coming back anymore, but at the same time I'm beginning to realize that I'll be okay.

And that's all right.

Kenny wouldn't have wanted us to be sad that he's gone. He'd want us to be happy he was here.

And I am. I'm happy to have known Kenny McCormick. I'm happy he was such an important part of my life, and that I was an important part of his. I only wish I could have done more for him, because, though he may have never realized it, he did so much for me. Even I hadn't realized it before now. I wish I could have told him… but then again, knowing Kenny, he probably didn't need me to say it.

I take a deep breath and unclench my fists as a nurse leads me to Tweek's room.

I promised Kenny I would fix things, so I will, but I'm doing this for me.

"Let us know if you need anything," the nurse smiles politely.

"I will," I say as he walks off.

When I walk into the room, Tweek is sitting in a chair facing the window and looking out at the snow falling. He turns his head upon hearing the door creak open and stands up after noticing that it's me.

He doesn't utter a word, but he looks calm, mellow – probably from pills.

"Hey, Tweek," I say.

His lips part.

I approach him slowly. "I'm so sorry," I whisper once I've reached him.

His eyes are glassy, but he doesn't cry, instead he smiles. He slowly reaches out his hands and presses them against my abdomen, clutching the fabric.

"So am I," he finally speaks.

Carefully I put my hands on his shoulders and pull him close. He melts into me, locking his arms around my back.

We stay like that for a long time. I don't know how, but it feels like we're both trying to telepathically communicate just how sorry we really are to one another.

It has been over a year since we last spoke, but I think we'll be okay now. At least, it feels like we will be.

"Kenny's gone," I say softly once we break apart.

Tweek smiles bitterly, "I know."

"How?"

"He said goodbye," Tweek whispers.

"Goodbye?"

Tweek nods, "He never said goodbye to me before. It was always, 'see you soon,' or 'later,' but never a goodbye. Right away I knew it meant something."

"Oh," I say, "Are you okay?"

"Strangely enough, I am. Are you?"

It's funny, in a not-so-funny way. It reminds me of something Kenny once said to me when we were watching a dumb, sappy movie with Clyde. "They won't meet again," he had predicted the ending of the movie.

"W-what?" Clyde had asked, practically in tears. He's always been a bit of a crybaby.

"Because she said goodbye," Kenny explained, "and everyone knows that when you say goodbye it means you are leaving."

Kenny…

"No," I finally admit, "I'm not okay, but I will be."

Tweek nods, "I'll be here… I've been here this whole time."

"Yeah," I feel myself smile, something I haven't done in a long time. "I know that now, and I'm sorry I didn't realize it sooner."

I've been so damn naïve.

"I… I've missed you…" he says.

"Me too."

"I…" he trails off.

"Me too."

So we won't say the L word just this second – maybe we won't for a while – but I don't care about that. All I care about is this moment right here.

But someday I'll tell him I love him. He'll probably be shaking by the time I finally get the words out, and maybe he won't be able to say it back, but I'll still say it again nonetheless because after all that has happened he deserves to hear it as much as I can say it.