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.

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

wow, you are the first stranger to write a textwall to me

Above and in front two birds are darting in and out of a tree. Sometimes they collide to fight or maybe mate, but I can't really make it out in the low light. It's just after

dusk

Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03

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

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.

Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

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

sorry i am texting like a slav

I've found the girl, or she's found me, and we're smoking a cigarette while we watch the silhouettes of the French Raj and his fireworks bearer down on the bank.

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

i struggle with building a personal technical architecture for storing media, both curation and creation. instead i bookmark everything