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.

its performative

"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."

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.

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

its good short few pages

plato

have you read

ion

its good

what do you mean

like magnets

abrar?

propensity within someone

i hope ai fixes this with the cessation of interfaces and walls

you cannot feed someone truth

magnetises a pin

autonomy of learning

hello reader,

as in