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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
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.
no longer writing in the third person
It's
dusk
in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting
abrar?
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