Angels Deserve to Die

Such a beautiful service they’d held. He looked so peaceful. I was the only one who didn’t cry. I was the only one sitting alone; the only one leaving alone, too. There was the immediate family, then the long distance relatives who’d come in from different parts of the country, and the close friends who’d known him better than anyone else.

So where did I come in? The awkward looking girl standing in the background, too upset to come forward?

I didn’t.

I was the mystery guest; the object of disdainful whispers, passing ‘hello’s from people acting as if they knew me, and every strained attempt at placing a name with a face.

What would be an appropriate title? Friend, maybe. We were much closer than that. A ghost of the past…yes. That was fitting. A faceless, nameless ghost, floating about as everyone mourned the loss of a son, a grandson, a nephew, a friend, a past lover.

They mourn.

We all mourn.

I mourn.

I choke. I wail. I cry with empty eyes.

The tears never come.

Dear God, why won’t they fucking come?