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.

i see a website

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

i am quite illiterate on producing technology

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i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike

i am quite confused, not quite getting the idea of it

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.

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

Worse Lift

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

the textwall is as much for me as it is for you

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.

in a post. I want to be remembered

Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.

Above and in front two birds are darting in and out of a tree. Sometimes they collide to fight or maybe mate, but I can't really make it out in the low light. It's just after

dusk

I'm in a crowded lift and a girl I've never met tells me she thinks she might love me.
The lift won't stop at any floor, and I can't talk in front of all these people.

brb i will read and reply sincerely

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

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

Style