Addy Mooradian

Tonight for the first time, I couldn’t stand the sunset.

First one. First you raised me, when he never did. When all he ever did was hate hate hate. My fathers father. First one, you loved me. You cared for me, and treated me as if I was your first. I wasn’t. But it felt like it. 

First one is gone. Not gone like a sad song, but gone like a forgotten memory. Gone. I knew it was coming, it wasn’t any surprise. You’ve fallen already before, in front of me. So it wasn’t that I wasn’t expecting it. I just wasn’t prepared. One, two, three, I counted the paragraphs on the piece of paper. Each paragraph of your life. Each paragraph on the now tear-stained paper. I walked up, with fear in my eyes, and a broken rose in my hand. What I saw was not you. You were paler, emotionless. And the light that once filled the eyes of you and everyone you would surround yourself with…was burnt out. Smoke. 

He didn’t go. My fathers father didn’t go at all. He didn’t cry, he didn’t appreciate it, his tears didn’t stain the paper, and his eyes never ran dry. He didn’t cry. 

Second one. I knew you well enough to know your story, I didn’t know you well enough to cry. I feel bad. I feel like my fathers father. I feel as if I’m not feeling as much as I should. Second one was at least there. More than him, more than my father’s father. 

I don’t feel like lighting my candles, I don’t wish to receive red roses anymore. The flood of smoke, the scent of flowers crowding a small confined room makes me ill. All I could ever picture since are your faces, frozen. Frozen in caskets, and frozen in time. 

You were both gone, in the span of a month. In the blink of an eye, you both were forever lost. I can’t speak to you, I can’t have the same conversations. I can’t enjoy things. I used to love the foods you showed me, I used to love candles, roses, smoke, and sunsets. But I hate the sunset tonight. And I hate that the last words I ever said to either of you wasn’t, “I love you, goodbye.”