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.

Like the tide, it comes in and it washes over the beach. It's beautiful. But like the tide it goes out, sometimes it goes out further than it ever has, it recedes back across the beach and further out beyond the horizon. The bare seabed opens up in front of you and all you can do is look at it.

...

I Write Goodbye Letter

the site i am dreaming

like first name

no i haven't really read anything

its good

the textwall is as much for me as it is for you

i want to do that too

feel you

fw

like people can read 100 books and still not have the fire within them

its good

division of reality is straying away from it

ion

you have a beautiful account btw

it exists in my head in some way that i'm trying to get out i lied on my story a little bit because i'm mostly feeling it and thinking about it. feeling something deeply doesn't necessitate any kind of deep relevance or whatever but the thinking is useful

nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class

you cannot feed someone truth

confused - is it the tide or its absense? I still like where I was going with it. anyway, real reader know this site is the note.

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