And then, there were nøne.

And then, there were nøne.

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Times stands still, time stands still, there's a metaphor at hand, a metaphoric blast which only few will understand, under skin, under clothes, underneath we are all the same, because when you remove the tricky treats... Only skeleton bones remain.
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The first time I lost her, it was raining. The second time, thunder cracked the sky. The third time, she was in my bed-but she wasn't mine. I used to believe silence was safety. That if I stayed quiet long enough, still enough, the world would forget I existed. It worked for a while. Until Becky Armstrong walked into my life with scraped knees, a crooked smile, and the kind of laugh that made silence feel like punishment. She was loud. Bright. Reckless. And I loved her-quietly, desperately. I never told her. Not when she kissed my cousin. Not when she kissed me. Not even when she said it meant nothing. So I left. I built a life out of steel and silence. And now she's here again-living in my house, breathing my air, asking for forgiveness I don't know how to give. She says she wants to be used. But I don't think she understands. I don't want to use her. I want to destroy her. And the worst part? I still love her. - Freen Sarocha Chakminha

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