We gather around the start of a causeway down to the Thames. It's a pretty cold night and there's a breeze coming off the river.

it holds me to something (you, now). I love editing!

...

The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.

Like the tide, it comes in and it washes over the beach. It's beautiful. But like the tide it goes out, sometimes it goes out further than it ever has, it recedes back across the beach and further out beyond the horizon. The bare seabed opens up in front of you and all you can do is look at it.

I am below everything.

not so on: yvf(wthw)

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

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

nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class

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.

abrar?

is this you as well

Their voices are saying they haven't and shouldn't fuck but want to so bad, or have fucked and can't again but want to so bad, or something like that. Would this be easier if they were birds? Incel kind of question... I'm not following the conversation, but I'm still listening. He's talking in this slightly begging way. It's a way of talking that asks for pity, like he's already tried appealing to every other one of her sensibilities. Incel kind of observation... Maybe he just talks like that, in some upspeak derivative. Haha unless?

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

barren land

Maybe, Jack, I'm doing this because I'm English?