When Ayden died, and I left, I viewed the tattoo in a different light. Those tiny, looping fine lines Devin had drawn, the ones I had once felt were intricately interwoven into every facet of our lives, looked delicate and feeble and not strong enough to sustain pressure. Now, I look at the symbol as proof that the lines may bend and shake, may quiver and falter, may even rip and tear, but they grow back, stronger and firmer and more powerful than before. Because the bond of true friendship does outlast time.
