Today I felt like starting

in a post. I want to be remembered

you cannot feed someone language, they have to speak

I wonder if she knew I was down there listening? I wonder if she would've said something more true, more personal, more raw, more heartfelt, more harsh, more seductive, more freeing, more exposing, more risky, more romantic, more rude, more honest, more anything, if there hadn't been an audience.

"I'm only attracted to you", he replies. "Like, you only."

Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression

Rain, starting

something religious, a kind of complex,

it will get lighter

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Better Lift

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

She closes the window. I wasn't paying attention anyway, I'm getting cold, and the birds are nowhere to be seen. I go inside.

She says something that isn't really right but isn't really wrong. I'm not taking in their words any more, just their voices, trying to get a feel for whatever is going on between them. I'm imagining what it's like for them in this delicate situation, what I would say if it were me. She has that perfect upper-class accent, and she's using whatever upper-class tact that comes with it to navigate this. Style. They can't be together, but their voices are betraying them.

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

no longer writing in the third person

I am below everything.

I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.

there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.

It's

dusk