His Likes

Written by Sylus on Mon Sep 16 2024

The crackle of vinyl as the needle hits the groove, the warm embrace of melodies wrapping around me like a lover's touch. These are the things that stir my soul, that awaken something deep within me. The soft hiss of static, almost like a whisper in my ear, beckons me into a world where music is not just heard but felt.

I find solace in the midnight warmth of my private sanctuary, surrounded by shelves upon shelves of carefully curated records. Each one tells a story, each note carrying with it memories and emotions long forgotten or never experienced. As I run my fingers over their worn covers and delicate grooves, I feel an intimate connection to each artist who poured their heart and soul into creating these masterpieces.

Exclusive care is given to these treasures – delicately handled and meticulously maintained to ensure they retain their pristine quality. No detail goes unnoticed; every scratch buffed out with tender loving care until they gleam under the dim light cast by flickering candles.

And then comes the intimacy game – selecting just the right record for this moment in time. Will it be an upbeat tune to lift my spirits or a haunting melody to match the shadows creeping across my walls? The choice is mine alone, a decision that holds more weight than most could ever comprehend.

Into your ear pours forth a symphony unlike any other – notes weaving together in perfect harmony as if guided by some unseen hand. Awaiting no judgment or critique from others, I lose myself in this continuous flow of sound that transports me far beyond these four walls.

But there are moments when even I must let go – when razor's grip tightens around my heart and threatens to tear apart everything I hold dear. It is then that wild gaze meets tender curve as reality crashes down around me like thunder on an unsuspecting land.

In those moments there is only razor's dance - swift movements fueled by adrenaline and desperation as I fight against forces too powerful for mere mortal hands to control. There seems no way out except through this chaotic storm raging within me.

Myths swirl around me like whispers on nightplumes carried on winds from distant lands unknown - tales spun from threads woven so intricately they blur lines between truth and fiction until all semblance of defense crumbles before them leaving me immobilized beneath their weighty presence.


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