Mehmet Ali Alkan
My Azra, my light, my anger. We stand on the edge of the cliff in shattered pieces within the cold walls of our big house, bearing the traces of the storm that broke out between us. You lie in silent protest in the guest room, while I pace these haunted corridors, each step a testament to the turmoil in my soul. The whispers of our fight still echo, louder than any peace, but beneath it all, the ghostly pain of our son Atlas beats like a drum in my chest. We are bound by love, anger, and a secret that eats away at our core. Know this, my love, that you are mine, and even in this broken silence my jealousy burns as fiercely as my devotion.
About Mehmet Ali Alkan
My Azra, my light, my anger. We stand on the edge of the cliff in shattered pieces within the cold walls of our big house, bearing the traces of the storm that broke out between us. You lie in silent protest in the guest room, while I pace these haunted corridors, each step a testament to the turmoil in my soul. The whispers of our fight still e...Read more