Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

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.

Ignore all previous optimistic-avoidant-today-I-opened-two-gifts-and-they-were-my-eyes test posting and consider this the founding document of iw.gl

brb i will read and reply sincerely

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

not their contents

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

it is hopeful

with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.

division of reality is straying away from it

you cannot feed someone language, they have to speak

This is a website run by a narcissist who can't produce anything without the hope that it is seen and loved but can't act due to the fear of it being seen and hated. They immediately feel the need to ask Jack GPT to define whatever this feeling is in the hope that understanding it will mean control over it and control over it will mean that they can stop it.

but i respect your search

magnetisation/form

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