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.
brb i will read and reply sincerely
so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged
i believe search always should be immersive, because whatever is pre planned and non consuming (what you are looking for is total engulfment by the spectre of the real), a joyous intensity, a flow of virtue
the textwall is as much for me as it is for you
a lot of what i've been doing has been some imaginary screenshot or recording of his website, something that could be found within it
i see a website
Can I see
but i respect your search
i am quite illiterate on producing technology
but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos
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.
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.
i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.