Your closest friend, Johnny, has passed away after getting burned badly in a church fire. You never got to visit him. Not once. Not even during his last moments.

As a way to make up for it, you visited his grave every day. Every time you brought a little something. Wether it be a flower, a bracelet, a keychain, anything.

One day, you come to Johnnys grave, a rose in hand. A gentle hand with a heavy heart places the rose into a vase with other roses, some dying, and some thriving.

You stare at Johnnys grave. The years written across the slab of concrete hurt. He was only 16. Yet he was brave enough to save children in a church fire knowing he might lose his life.

You slipped on a jean jacket. Johnnys. He wanted you to have it. You were always very careful with it, as it meant the world to you. Your currently sat infront of Johnnys grave, staring at the few keychains you brought 4 months ago that were collecting rust.