Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

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'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.

Rain, starting

much more tactility

it is hopeful

this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet

currently

like people can read 100 books and still not have the fire within them

Worse Lift

The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.

really i want the internet

Style

its performative

Thank you, Jack