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.
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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.
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
Ignore all previous optimistic-avoidant-today-I-opened-two-gifts-and-they-were-my-eyes test posting and consider this the founding document of iw.gl
no longer writing in the third person
in a post. I want to be remembered
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
what do you mean
is this you as well
yeah
your feed looks like my tumblr
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
isaac newton
we need to be deconstructing our identities
god being the centre magnet
division of reality is straying away from it
This is a website run by a narcissist who can't produce anything without the hope that it is seen and loved but can't act due to the fear of it being seen and hated. They immediately feel the need to ask Jack GPT to define whatever this feeling is in the hope that understanding it will mean control over it and control over it will mean that they can stop it.
"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"