Do you know the compass? The old reliable always points north. Always. You take a reading off it and you know exactly where you are. What if that compass was a person, always pointing you in the right direction? You would never again need a compass. No matter how far you walk in the wrong direction, you will always know which direction is home. Home, by that person’s side.Sitting under the stars my thoughts drift to you. My compass. From where I sit, I am southwest of you but there is that moon. To it, we may as well be together. The moon does not see the some 200km between us. In that beautiful lunar eye we are side by side.I never understood people who loved the moon. Now I understand, because I have my own person to miss, you. I sit here beneath the moon and text you. I tell you something, like how I love the way your hair curls or how you get louder and louder when you are excited. I just wanted to tell you I miss you but, what I most desperately want to tell you is so trivial yet so important.Every time you tell me how pretty you think I am, the more comfortable I feel in my own skin. Every time you give a passing comment filled with such deep and caring words that leave me speechless, I feel them. They drip down like rain drops, rolling along the inside of my ribs. When they reach the end they fall into the massive lake that is the pit of my stomach. They splash loudly and ricochet off the walls. The gentle vibrations create that warm fuzzy feeling. Nothing has ever made me feel that way before. I promise, nothing.Right now, I want to take your hands and show you where I miss you. It is on either side of me, just behind my ribs, weighing gently on my diaphragm. It sits there with my feelings of worry, like a fat dog sitting on my chest. I wish I never got used to that feeling. But I have.She never wrote, but when she thought of him, the words came dripping from her pen, falling easy on to the page. She wanted everyone to know how much she adored him but it scared her to share her words. She thought of that moment, sitting beside him in the park.Little dogs in jackets and kids screaming as they flew around the playground set the scene. The smell of autumnal decay surrounded them but she only had eyes for him. Over a pack of jellies, he stammered out a question, one she was too scared to ask.As she watches him in her memories, she realises, if he can, why can’t she?Her mind is made up, he shall know, and the world by extension. She writes a poem.