Better Lift

13, H, grate

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

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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 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

it is hopeful

i see a website

kind of mythopoesis

but really the thing should be autonomous

there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.

hiding from the rain

the point of this was to try and avoid this narcissistic death spiral I'm in by acting anonymously and impulsively. how can that feeling that even Jack can't describe paralyse me if my name isn't next to any of this? the excitement of believing I just need a new process has overcome me and I have cummed out an empty webpage.

i love to walk around and see things and take photos and go online and look at websites and click on links and take screenshots i love to surf and i love to browse

something religious, a kind of complex,

it will get lighter

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.

and the fake qualifier