They're fucking around with the box. I ask her what people do with fireworks for so long before they're ready to light. She doesn't know.

with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.

currently

Rain, starting

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression

Today I felt like starting

hiding from the rain

Can I see

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

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

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

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.

yes

"Put a blanket."

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

the textwall is as much for me as it is for you