Life is like a sharp stick it pokes you when you’re not looking, and sometimes it hurts more than you think it should.

That’s how it felt the day my best friend moved away.

One minute, we were talking about the latest video game, and the next, he was telling me his family was packing up and leaving by the end of the week. Just like that. No warning. No time to do all the things we always said we would.

His name was Ryan. We’d been friends since second grade. We did everything together rode our bikes to the gas station for slushies, stayed up way too late gaming on weekends, and made dumb videos we never posted. And now, he was just… going.

I tried to act like it was fine. I said stuff like, “We’ll FaceTime all the time,” and, “It’s not even that far.” But inside, it felt like that sharp stick had stabbed me right in the chest.

The last day before he left, we went to the old creek behind the school, the place we used to hang out when we were younger. We sat on the rocks, just listening to the water.

Neither of us said much. I think we both knew there wasn’t much to say.

Finally, I picked up a stick and started poking the mud. “Life’s like a sharp stick,” I muttered.

Ryan looked at me. “How?”

“It just… gets you sometimes. When you’re not ready.”

He nodded. “Yeah. But you can still throw it.”

I laughed. It was a dumb thing to say, but somehow it made me feel better.

That night, after he left, I went back to the creek by myself. I found a sharp stick and threw it into the water as hard as I could. I watched it float away down the stream until it disappeared.

It didn’t fix everything. But it helped.

And now, when life pokes me with something sharp, I try to remember what Ryan said.

You can still throw it.