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"Love's Last Call: A Bittersweet Ode"

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Inside a dim lit bar at the counter two friends drink. The guy on the right is turned towards his friend on his left. He has a glass in hand filled with red wine. He's speaking to the guy on his left. | Write (with AI)
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In a dim-lit bar where shadows play,
We two old friends spent the last of day.
A symphony in candid speech,
Lessons only time can teach.
Like an arrow straight and true,
His words flew.
"I know you love her, but it's over, mate."
I gazed upon my pint of grief,
In silent prayer for sweet relief.
And muttered deep, with heart irate,
"Yes, I loved her, but now it's too late."
And her image still haunts my dreams,
Lit by moonlight's silver streams.
"So, my friend," said I, with closed gates,
"Our hearts love, till they meet fate.
Although it hurts, pain will abate,
Love was worth it, though it came late."
In resignation, our glasses clink,
Life and love, an elusive link.

This story was generated by user joshua71 with assistance by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.

Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALL·E 2, or uploaded by the user.

AI Prompts

Prompt: Then my friend said, "I know you love her, but its over mate.

Response: In dim-lit bar where shadows play, We two old friends spent last of day. His words, they hung, like mournful fate, "Although you love her, it's over, mate." A symphony in candid speech, Lessons only time can teach. Like an arrow straight and true, His minds words flew. When age turns boyhood friends to sages, Turn'd over are life's untidy pages. From his lips, regret did skate, "Some loves must end, accept your fate." I gazed upon my pint of grief, In silent prayer for sweet relief. And muttered deep, with heart irate, "Yes, I loved her, now it's too late." Oh! The depths of love, elusive specter, With phantom touch, does gently seck her. Now gone, I dwell in this state, Her love is lost, my friend dictates. Her image still haunts my dreams, Lit by moonlight's silver streams. Yet, his words hold my fate, "I know you love her, but it's over, mate." In sorrow's clutch, dreams dissipate, Love’s cruel punch can decimate. To his wisdom, I resonate, "Of love and loss, you are the state." Thus, as night claimed daylight’s reign, Drowned in my ale, and heart-strain. I silently pondered his words, innate, "Yes, old friend, it indeed is late." But though her love has fled its perch, Guided by sorrow's solemn church. In memory, her love won't abate, Lost, not cast off, is love's true trait. "So, my friend," said I, with closed gate, "Our hearts love, till they meet fate. Although it hurts, pain will abate, Love was worth it, though it came late." In resignation, glasses clink, Life and love, an elusive link. Thus, concluded was our debate, Under the shadow of love's great weight. His words, though harsh - a bitter pill, Yet, they offered a kind of thrill. From broken heart, wisdom does create, "Although you love her, it's over, mate."

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