Hours staring at the ceiling, the wall, curling up into a ball. It seems annoyed with the light, it kind of recoils. It will get lighter. I wonder where it goes in the day.

i believe search always should be immersive, because whatever is pre planned and non consuming (what you are looking for is total engulfment by the spectre of the real), a joyous intensity, a flow of virtue

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

It Will Get Lighter

13, H, grate

propensity within someone

but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos

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.

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

Better Lift

wow, you are the first stranger to write a textwall to me

Worse Lift

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.

It's

dusk

no longer writing in the third person

like people can read 100 books and still not have the fire within them

you cannot feed someone truth

as in

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.

"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"

"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."