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. I've found the girl, or she's found me, and we're smoking a cigarette while we watch the dim silhouettes of the French Raj and his fireworks bearer down on the bank. They're fucking around with the box. I ask her what people do with fireworks for so long before they're ready to light. She doesn't know.
After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting
something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever
Sun, 02 Nov 2025 22:11:24
no longer writing in the third person
Sun, 02 Nov 2025 21:54:03
"Put a blanket."
"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
One of the birds shoots out of the tree.
The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.
currently
Wed, 11 Nov 2025 21:12:41
I am below everything.
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.
Better Lift
Thu, 06 Nov 2025 21:22:59
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.