Good bye, sapphire dyed eyes.
Farewell, smooth, tanned skin.
Never to meet again, silky, rose lips.
Buona notte, forever, to the sweet vanity that brought him joy every single day.
A tear rolls down his face as he stares into the fire, watching the rose that was meant for his sweetheart of choice blacken and crumple in the arms of the flame. He leans back in his chair and he contemplates what he next move should be in this situation.
Keep trying?
No.
It would have been no use.
Move on?
Never.
There was no one else like him.
Admit he lost his love to a foreign prince?
Impossible.
He could never do that.
So long, that adorable laughter, full of bubbles and sugar.
Au revoir, that rich Italian accent, slick with rolled r's and emphasized t's.
Best wishes to that soft, soothing mumble that eased his worries.
He slowly stands from the chair, feet scuffling along the floor as he makes his way to his messy, barely used kitchen. A drawer groans as his long, bony fingers pull it open slowly. Inside, what little silverware he owns glimmers tauntingly in the moonlight coming through the window, the blade of the sharp knife the brightest.
Best wishes, to a man who became a field of flowers when he was happy.
Happy thoughts to a man whose tantrum was the equivalent of that to a tsunami.
Joyful songs to a man who brings the rain when he cries.
A cheerful life to a man who could brighten up his world any day.
He plays with the knife as he recalls the number of times he could have spoken up. The thought of stabbing himself out of agony is revolting to him, so he drops the knife onto the counter and makes his way to his fridge, where a collection of alcohol would make a drunkard dance with joy.
He spends the next few hours drinking his pain away, consuming drink after drink, until his stomach is on fire and he can barely see straight anymore.
So long, blue eyed, gorgeous man.
Farewell, music box of glee.
Good bye, the man that he loved, the one he abused, the one who he was not worthy for.
He closed his eyes, feeling the fingers of either exhaustion or death wrap around him. The bottle he held fell onto the floor beside him as his head flopped back onto the arm of the couch.
He hoped this was it.
Good bye, Luigi, he thought.
Good bye.
**Late night role playing equals this. Sad little drabble. **