As_vrea_sa_beau_sa_plang_sa_mor -

He didn't sob loudly. He simply sat there, shoulders shaking, as a lifetime of unspoken words poured out of his eyes. He cried for the trips they never took, for the house they never bought, and for the version of himself that had existed only when she looked at him. He cried until his eyes were as red as the neon sign outside.

The neon sign of the "Ultima Statie" bar flickered, casting a rhythmic, sickly pink glow over Stefan’s hands. He wasn't a drinker by habit, but tonight, the habit of being himself had become too heavy to wear. as_vrea_sa_beau_sa_plang_sa_mor

The bartender, a man who had seen a thousand such funerals for a thousand different hearts, silently slid a glass of water across the wood. Stefan didn't see it. He was looking at the bottom of his empty glass, where the light seemed to vanish into a dark point. He didn't sob loudly

It wasn't a wish for an end to life, not really. It was a wish for the end of the feeling . He wanted to be like the glass—shattered, inert, unable to feel the cold or the heat. He wanted to go to sleep and wake up as someone else, or perhaps not wake up at all until the world had moved on and her name no longer felt like a hook in his throat. He cried until his eyes were as red as the neon sign outside