Hours staring at the ceiling, the wall, curling up into a ball. It seems annoyed with the light, it kind of recoils. It will get lighter. I wonder where it goes in the day.

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.

I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.

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.

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression

I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.

It Will Get Lighter

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46

Better Lift