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Bay Thorne'un Veda Mektubu: Trajik Bir Aşk Baladı

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“Bu Sözlere Sahip Çıkacak Olana;     T üy kalemim parşömenle buluşurken, mürekkebim, düşüncelerim ve anılarımla birleşirken, bir gün bu satırları okuyacak olan, tanımadığım, zaman içinde kadere bağlı bir yabancı olan sizin varlığınızı hissediyorum. Çağlar sonra, varoluşumun mürekkep ve kağıda hapsedilmiş bir parçası olan bu mektubu keşfettiniz.  Sözlerimin sizde yankı bulup yılların ötesine geçen bir bağ kurmasını dileyerek, zamanda elimi uzatıyorum.   Calloway malikanesinin kalbinde, zarafet ve sırların ortasında, ben, Oliver Thorne, kendimi, hayatıma sonsuza dek şekil verecek bir aşk ve trajedi masalının içinde buldum. Ancak, bu hikayenin derinliklerine dalmadan önce, geçmişime bir göz atmama izin verin; beni bu ruhani dramın merkezindeki adama dönüştüren bir geçmişe.  Mütevazı koşullarda doğdum. Çocukluk günlerim, annemin kahkahaları ve ev yapımı ekmeğinin kulübemizde oluşturduğu rahatlatıcı aroması ile süslendi. O, benim yol gösterici ışığımdı, anlattığ...
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Oh Baby, Wasn’t I There?

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A Cold Bed In The Quiet Earth I walked through the cemetery, the soles of my boots crunching softly against the gravel path. The sun had just dipped below the horizon, and the shadows stretched long and thin, casting an eerie glow over the gravestones. I shouldn’t have been there. This was not a place for late-night visits, especially not alone. But tonight, I needed to be here. I needed to see him.  I was just a teenager when he was tearing up stages, leaving a trail of shattered amps and broken hearts in his wake. But his music, the raw power of his presence—it spoke to me, like nothing else ever had. Even now, years after his death, I couldn’t listen to his songs without feeling a pang of something deep in my chest. Was it love? Maybe. It was hard to say. How do you love someone you’ve never met? Someone who never even knew you existed? But love was the only word that made sense when I thought about him. He was a ghost, a shadow on the edge of my existence, but his songs spoke t...
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Defuse The Asbestos Bombs.

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  Beautiful Chaotic Child   I see the weight you’ve carried, The battles you’ve fought in silence, The way you’ve held yourself together When the world tried to tear you apart. You’ve been strong, relentless, My fierce, stubborn warrior, craving the good In a world that often gives you the worst. But you’ve faced it all, head held high. You are my everything, my wild, sweet riot, A force of nature that can’t be tamed. Trust that voice deep inside, the one that whispers You can conquer anything, be anything. Don’t heed the doubters, even those close as breath, Trust your instincts, For you are unstoppable, unbreakable. The future is waiting for you to claim it. Keep going, my beautiful rebel, The world is yours, And I’ll always be right here, By your side, forever. You’re alright kiddo. - Rotten.
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The Stupid Details That My Heart Is Breaking For : 'A Few Clichés'

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  AUTHORS TRIGGER WARNING This story contains sensitive and disturbing themes such as kidnapping, blood, violence, threats, abuse, substance use, PTSD, and death. I have decided to publish a reduced and softened version of this content, but it may still be triggering for some readers. The content is entirely fictional and has no connection to real events. I advise emotionally sensitive readers to consider this warning before reading.   Note:  When you reach the end of the story, I highly recommend listening to the song "Elvis Costello - I Want You" that I have included. ----------- ----------- ----------- ----------- ------ The Stupid Details That  My Heart Is Breaking For  G wen, opened her eyes painfully, hands and mouth bound, to the sound of a rusty, creaking bed in the dark and damp second floor of an abandoned shack. Her mind was numb from drugs, dazed and weak. Sharp pain and heat radiated from her wrists and ankles, making it difficult to breathe. She b...
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Indigo Desolation

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INDIGO DESOLATION  Under a sky smeared with grime,   where stars are just faded glitter,   I stumble through the wreckage of my own making—   a lost soul in the alley of regret. The night’s a blanket of filth and forgotten dreams,   no comfort in the scattered, indifferent stars,   flickering like streetlights on their last legs,   mocking me with their cold, distant shine. Every glint up there feels like a punch,   a reminder of every foolish mistake I’ve made,   a constellation of guilt stretched out   like a neon sign saying, “You’re a mess.” The darkness wraps around me like a cheap coat,   no warmth, just the scent of old failures   and the silent screams of a thousand “what-ifs,”   each one gnawing at my insides. Stars, you miserable bastards,   I’m drowning in the mess you don’t even notice.   Here I am, a damn wreck of a human,   and you’re just out there, indifferent,   as always. G.
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