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'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.

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

        13       |
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            H   |
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. . . .         |
. . . .         |
. . . .         |
. . . .         |
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"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

mazelike/rhizomatic/immanent/emergent are not antithetical to a transcendent real but its very manifestation

It Will Get Lighter

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.

in a post. I want to be remembered

send link

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

I Write Goodbye Letter

its good

It Will Get Lighter

13, H, grate