Remembering That Sunsets Die

I remember one day I was riding home in a vehicle I can no longer describe as working.
The ethics bowl regional championship was over and Hardin Valley Academy won,
but I was lost.
I gave my teammate jack a ride home that day.
We didn’t know each other that well, so I guess you could say there were two strangers
in that car.
If only life was as simple as bracing for impact every time you were going to lose.
Unfortunately, Jump scares only work because you don’t know when they’re coming.
I dropped Jack off, and I honestly didn’t know what to do.
Everyone was at my Grandma’s, but I wasn’t even sure I was on this planet.
The sunset overhead reminded me that everything ends.
I paused in fear, not knowing whether or not I should keep breathing.
It might have been easier that way, cause at least with suffocation you’re body can tell you when you’re about to give in.
Saying Ignorance is Bliss felt like saying the earth is flat: not true.
Bliss would have been knowing my Grandmother was going to wake up the next morning.
Bliss would have been feeling her small, fragile frame around my arms and her breath on my neck.
Bliss would have been sign that my fear was unfounded,
that my worries were worthless,
that my heavy breathing was just because I’m out of shape.
Ignorance was not a luxury I could afford,
and the next day I was reminded that sunsets only last a few hours before fading into darkness.


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