Sunt_betiv_pe_pat_de_moarte

Ion closed his eyes. He saw the golden fields of the Bărăgan, the sweat on his brow, and the crushing weight of a life that never quite fit the man he wanted to be. The alcohol hadn't been a choice; it had been a shroud, keeping the cold reality of his failures at bay.

"You know," he whispered, his voice suddenly clear, "everyone thinks a deathbed is for apologies. But I don't want to apologize for the drinking. I want to apologize for the reasons I started." sunt_betiv_pe_pat_de_moarte

"Don't be like me," he whispered, a single tear escaping the corner of his eye, smelling faintly of rye. "Don't wait until the end to realize that the world is beautiful enough without the haze." Ion closed his eyes