R.I.P.

Today, I received a phone call from an old man.
"Is this the landlord?", he asked.
"Yes, and who am I speaking to?", I answered.
"John passed away last week and I've already taken away all his things from his apartment."
"Wait what?"

That news came to me so quickly, I didn't know how to feel.
I was speaking to John's brother.
John has been our tenant for the longest time.
Even before my dad moved here and bought the apartment.
We didn't even know what he did.
We didn't talk to him much.
And neither did I find out the reason of his death.
I remember him complaining all the time.
About the tenants above him,
moving around too much and making noise
at around midnight or later.

Now that he's gone.
There won't be any of his complaining.
Maybe it has become a habit that we got used to.
But now that he's gone,
it feels so different.
It left me a little gloomy.

Oh death.
Who knew you would come take him so quickly.
When it felt like yesterday, he was climbing up the stairs
knocking on our door
to complain about my next-door neighbor.