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.

no longer writing in the third person

Style

FOUNDING DOCUMENT

1

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

currently

kind of mythopoesis

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

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.

with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.

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