but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos

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.

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

13, H, grate

something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever

in a post. I want to be remembered

        13       |
                |
                |
            H   |
                |
                |
. . . .         |
. . . .         |
. . . .         |
. . . .         |
                |

Worse Lift

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

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.

1

no longer writing in the third person

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

It Will Get Lighter

Picture

my watchlater reached its limit years ago and now i have to create a playlist for each new topic im interested in but it is incredibly hard to create the taxonomy of knowledge because everything seems to be everything else because at the end it is what you get from it that matters not what is given