There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged

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

feel you

or never left

much more tactility

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.

so an active mazelike process

that looks like my instagram account