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

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 haven't read 100 book s so i'm probably not getting the depth of all of what you're saying

yeah people dont get it they assume its ahnaf

i know a little bit of lacan which probably influences me in a way i cant articulate

we need to be deconstructing our identities

lol yea