He went in there with a camera to film it before he moved out of the building. He didn't think anyone would believe the story if he didn't have proof.

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.

it exists in my head in some way that i'm trying to get out i lied on my story a little bit because i'm mostly feeling it and thinking about it. feeling something deeply doesn't necessitate any kind of deep relevance or whatever but the thinking is useful

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.

it is hopeful

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

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.

so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged

Rain, starting

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

kind of mythopoesis

something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever