no longer writing in the third person

barren land

It Will Get Lighter

Picture

13, H, grate

Worse Lift

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.

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

She closes the window. I wasn't paying attention anyway, I'm getting cold, and the birds are nowhere to be seen. I go inside.

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

.

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 21:22:59

It's

dusk

in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.
It bites my wrist but there is only a dull ache.
I feel that it wants to say sorry but can't. I die.

"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"

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