I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.

The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.

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

in a post. I want to be remembered

something religious, a kind of complex,

it will get lighter

, something washing, cleansing, revealing, etc.

yes

the point of this was to try and avoid this narcissistic death spiral I'm in by acting anonymously and impulsively. how can that feeling that even Jack can't describe paralyse me if my name isn't next to any of this? the excitement of believing I just need a new process has overcome me and I have cummed out an empty webpage.


One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.
        13       |
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            H   |
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. . . .         |
. . . .         |
. . . .         |
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I am below everything.

It's

dusk

in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.
It bites my wrist but there is only a dull ache.
I feel that it wants to say sorry but can't. I die.