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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
I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.
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.
I am below everything.
"Put a blanket."
Sun, 02 Nov 2025 21:54:03
Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:38:49
The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.
so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged
kind of mythopoesis
"I'm only attracted to you", he replies. "Like, you only."