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

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.

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.

There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.

It Will Get Lighter

plato

we need to be deconstructing our identities

its good

feel you

you cannot feed someone truth

i want to do that too

i haven't read 100 book s so i'm probably not getting the depth of all of what you're saying