abrar?
The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.
One of the birds shoots out of the tree.
After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting
"Put a blanket."
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.
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.
in a post. I want to be remembered
currently
I am below everything.
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.
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 wonder if the birds knew I was watching?
"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.