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.

We gather around the start of a causeway down to the Thames. It's a pretty cold night and there's a breeze coming off the river.

but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos

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 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.

Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.

The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.

we can only engage in such a way

ion

we want to live the knowledge too live the content

plato

division of reality is straying away from it

whats your name?

your feed looks like my tumblr

i understand